


The Rose Petal Thieves

by scatteringmyashes



Series: Sylvix Week 2019 [4]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Awkward Flirting, Childhood Sweethearts, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Lost Love, M/M, Secret Identity, Sylvix Week (Fire Emblem), Trans Character, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 05:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21094295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes/pseuds/scatteringmyashes
Summary: "JEWEL THIEF HITS FIVE HOUSES OVER A FORTNIGHT, OFFICIALS WARN LONDON RESIDENTS TO BE ON GUARD — MULTIPLE HOUSES HIT IN A SINGLE NIGHT, NO ONE SAFE!"****Felix is a thief. Sylvain is a rich thief. Amidst the height of the season with the richest families gathered to gossip, mingle, and dance, the two set out to rob London blind. Their hearts get caught in the crossfire of their game.Sylvix Week Day 7: Flowers and Forbidden Love





	The Rose Petal Thieves

**Author's Note:**

> This is a massive beast, a labor of love and sweat and a lot of tears, and I'm really glad it's done ahahaha 
> 
> It's not my last fic for Sylvix Week - my Day 6 is getting moved to Day 8 because some unexpected stuff happened this week and I wasn't able to finish in time. So look out for that and, over the next few weeks, there also will be updates to the incomplete Sylvix Week fics.
> 
> I had a ton of fun writing this and I really hope that you enjoy it too! Let me know what you think down in the comments <3
> 
> Recommended Listening: Cabo by Ricky Montgomery

_"JEWEL THIEF HITS FIVE HOUSES OVER A FORTNIGHT, OFFICIALS WARN LONDON RESIDENTS TO BE ON GUARD — MULTIPLE HOUSES HIT IN A SINGLE NIGHT, NO ONE SAFE!"_

_An alarming string of burglaries has befallen the city of London. The esteemed Vestras and the Essars, two of our noble estates, reported priceless family artefacts totalling a sum of approximately eight hundred pounds were missing this morning. _

_This frightful news hits an already anxious London population, as these are the fourth and fifth houses to have experienced theft of this magnitude in the last fortnight. The Vestras and Essars accompany the Arundrels, the Varleys, and the von Aegirs as victims; London holds her breath as the other genteel families lock their doors and keep a close eye on their valuables. _

_As of present, the Scotland Yard has released a single statement advising that they have suspicions as of the culprit, but no arrests have been made. No information has been provided as to the nature of the suspects, other than the criminal is estimated to be a young man of no less than five and twenty and no more than thirty. _

_Thankfully, there have been no injuries during these thefts, save for poor Lady Varley who suffered a fainting spell upon discovering the theft of her pearl necklace. _

_Lord Vestra and Lord Essar both declined to comment. _

****

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. 

Marquess Sylvain Gautier held no such thoughts. Indeed, the young Lord Gautier — a charming gentleman of three and thirty — was perfectly content to be a confirmed bachelor for all his days; between travelling between his estate in the countryside and his summer flat in London proper, entertaining friends and acquaintances, dancing with dashing young ladies at balls, and the occasional hunt, his precious days were occupied to hectic levels even in comparison to the most social of men. 

However, let it never be said that a dashing young gentleman in need of a wife will be left alone, for the decrees of gentlemanly conduct demand that he attend at least one invitation a day and, as happened most frequently, extend his own so that all of London's finest — for it was the season and one must make the most of the ability to gossip endlessly with others who may otherwise live on the other side of the country — could know what a fortune of one hundred thousand pounds annual looked like. 

"My dear Sylvain, what troubles you so that your face resembles that of a man who has drunk too much before bed?" Lord Gautier's oldest and kindest friend, Countess Galatea, inquired over tea on one such visit. "Shall I call my physician? He is most skilled in all manners of unusual afflictions." 

Countess Ingrid Galatea was a fine lady with family tracing to the knights of the old King of England, but her father's unfortunate gamble with a merchant endeavor placed the family into a frightful situation. While he had avoided debtor's jail thanks to his good name and many a better connection, it was a well known secret that his daughter had to marry well if there was to be any hope of maintaining the estate. Her close companionship with Lord Gautier would be most suspicious if it weren't also known that she had declined his proposal twice already, and no gentleman would ever propose thrice. 

Still, it would be most scandalous for her to visit alone, so it was of utmost importance that their mutual friend Lord Dimitri Blaiddyd, a prince of no small land, be present as well as Ms. Mercedes Martritz and Ms. Annette Dominic, both of whom many considered fortunate to even have correspondence with Lords Gautier and Blaiddyd. 

"Oh, how cruel — pay her comment no mind, Lord Gautier, for your face looks as it always appears," cried Ms. Martritz. 

"It is of no consequence; if you must know, it is due to the unfortunate news that the papers seem to cry of every day. What difficulty it must be, I imagine, to procure some tales of gentlemanly acts or the blessings of the Church." And indeed, Lord Gautier stifled a yawn. "My apologies — I fear I am not the charming company you must have hoped for on this fine afternoon." 

"Nonsense," stated Ms. Dominic, "I think you are most agreeable even if you do find yourself lethargic. After all, it is a very warm afternoon — perhaps it would be best if we open a window?" 

Lord Blaiddyd gave his agreement and, with Lord Gautier's consent, stood to open a window. 

"You do not strike me as a man to fear gossip of thieves," said Lord Blaiddyd as he returned to his seat at the table. "Does your estate require additional assistance? My own man, Mr. Molinaro, is well-acquainted with several companies that could provide, if you so require." 

"Oh, you misunderstand me; I fear not the thieves, for they may take what they wish. A man's true wealth is in his deeds and heart, as we all do know. No, I fear only that this dark news shall result in the many fair ladies leaving for the country earlier than is tradition, and what could be more unsatisfactory than the early end of the season?" 

This brought up a chittering of laughter by both Ms. Martritz and Ms. Dominic. 

"Lord Gautier, you never shall change!" Declared Ms. Martritz. "I say that you shall be married and still look for another to woo." 

"But my dear madame, how could I settle on just one beautiful lady when there are hundreds in our good city alone? Sure as you would not criticise an artist for remarking at both the Renaissance and his contemporaries, nor would you request a library to hold only Austen or Shakespeare, you should not request a man keep his attentions for just one lady." Lord Gautier exhaled dramatically. 

"Oh, Lord Gautier, you fancy yourself a savant of the pleasures of women, but you will never know the true secrets that a woman holds close." Ms. Martritz smiled. 

A pause in conversation provided the most excellent moment for consideration — Lord Gautier adored his friends, but the rumors did say that they were a bit more queer than the norm. 

The tea party passed amicably, with pleasant conversation passing between the ladies and the master of the house. Lord Blaiddyd, who was a gentleman in name though less so in counternance, provided brief comments but his fellows knew him to be a bit of a dour man when his moods hit and so felt little concern for his silence. 

After the afternoon had passed, the ladies took their leave, for none wished to feed any rumors of scandalous relations with Lord Gautier, whose very acquaintanceship begged for gossip and scandal. Lord Blaiddyd, who held less regard for social standings than even Lord Gautier, harbored no concerns; the two withdrew to the drawing room and shared a game of cards, though there were low stakes. 

"So, my dear friend," inquired Lord Gautier with a smile on his face, "I noticed that Mr. Molinaro did not accompany you today." 

Lord Blaiddyd grunted. He placed a card on the table. His eye focused on the game, though his attention was lent to Lord Gautier. 

"Is he well?" 

"Yes."

"Was he occupied, then?" 

"Yes." 

"And what was he occupied with?" 

Lord Blaiddyd put his cards down. "You ask many questions for one who states he cares not for anyone who is ineligible for your attentions."

Lord Gautier laughed. "You wound me, Dimitri. I inquire after the health of my close friend's _closer_ retainer. Is it not apt that I keep myself abreast of the situation between them?" 

A moment passed. Lord Blaiddyd smiled a ghost of a smile. "Mr. Molinaro is doing well; rest your mind knowing that he is but busy with affairs with his family and I did not wish to distract him from that cause. I will send him your regards." 

"See that you do, and if he requires any assistance that you cannot provide yourself… well, I cannot imagine what that would be, but ask me a favor and it shall be yours." 

Lord Blaiddyd inclined his head. "You have both of our thanks and we are in your debt, Gautier. If the time ever comes where I may assist you — when you inevitably offend the wrong family and require assistance, then I will see what my reputation can do." 

"We are friends, Dimitri; I would imagine we can speak freely amongst each other. Also, your last name is quite challenging and I feel it would be easier for my poor tongue if I could use your Christian name." 

"But you are a godless bastard, are you not? Certainly any name you possess is not Christian," chided Lord Blaiddyd with a smile. "But if you wish to use mine then I shall use yours, Sylvain. Now, if I may, I have a question for you. It is only fair after you inquiries about Dedue's health." 

"Proceed as you wish, Dimitri, for my life is an open book in your legendary library." 

"How much rest have you managed to obtain? I am certain that our mutual friend, the Countess, did observe as well as I that you stifled many a yawn during tea." 

"Worry not, it is merely the consequence of an active social life." 

"I only worry that one day I shall awaken and hear that you have come upon several heirs and several more wives." 

"Oh, but would I be so blessed," Lord Gautier laughed. Lord Blaiddyd scoffed but made no more inquiries during his visit. 

****

_Dearest Madame Arnault,_

_I was most pleased to receive your letter the other day, and I must beg your forgiveness for the tardy nature of this response. As you must have seen, it is most dreadfully busy here with the season and this mysterious string of thefts have everyone on edge, though it has been a week since the last occurance so perhaps the thief has vanished. But I am never too busy for you, so I have included a small gift to hopefully appease you — I do request that you resist the urge to don it until the company is travelling outside the city once more. Don't bother to ask me why, for I shall not tell you, but I trust that the quality of the gift will convince you to cooperate with my oddities. I do imagine that it will be quite splendid with your eyes. _

_I have little news of my own to share. I spend my days with my friends, my evenings with women, and my nights alone. My mornings I spend recovering so I may do it all again; quite the bachelor, shall we say? _

_There is to be a large ball in a week, one hosted by Lady Edelgard Hresvelg; have you made her acquaintance yet? She is a fascinating woman and I imagine you would get along with her quite well. If you do not acquire your own invitation, simply allow me to take you as my companion — together we shall be quite the scandal, don't you think? A roguishly handsome and wild gentleman with more per year than the Vestras and the most popular performer in all of England — and together, the most handsome at the ball, I presume. _

_I will be along during your opening night, so no need to pen a response to this unless there is something most urgent. I have tickets to my own box and will be entertaining two lovely ladies, however I shall be certain to visit you afterwards so we can laugh about their obsession over my wealth. _

_Relax, I jest. I will be watching with my close friends, Countess Galatea and Lord Blaiddyd. You have met both of them in the past, though I imagine it would be hard to forget them for much different reasons. _

_I hope this letter finds you in good health. _

_Your friend,_

_Sylvain Gautier _

****

The night citizens of London's streets took the form of both porters and prostitutes, bobbies and beggars. On the rooftops of London's fine estates lurked a man dressed in black, with a dark blue cravat pulled over his mouth, and white gloves that stood out in the flickering light. 

Mr. Felix Hugo was not a proper gentleman. He held no title nor lands or estates, and his name was not connected to any of the great families. But he had the sensibilities of a gentleman, the accent of one, and his features were not unpleasant; it was said that his smile was actually rather charming, although it was rare to see for he found little humorous in life and was more apt to pointing out the disappointments in life than the positives. Though some would say he had a rather feminine form, he was still a man. Just not a gentle one. 

He strolled along the rooftops as one may stroll along the banks of the Thames. One hand slid into his pocket and withdrew a set of lockpicks. He carefully appraised the area, ensuring that the fading footsteps of the bobbies down below were not being replaced with another, before slipping over the side of the building and landing on a balcony. His frock coat fluttered in the wind. 

After a moment, the balcony door swung open with a soft click.

Once inside, Mr. Hugo examined the room with a critical eye. It was a drawing room — information he had scouted over the last week — a little down the corridor from the two guest bedrooms and an office that all seemed unoccupied. At the very least, all of the summertime residents were asleep. 

There was nothing of note in the room so he quickly exited and, upon brief consideration, snuck down towards the office. The hall was dark, the carpet soft under his boots, and it was silent as the grave. 

Mr. Hugo had no need for his lockpicks as the office door swung open without effort, but it was not unoccupied the way he had originally believed. 

A stranger stood in the office, messy red hair visible over the collar of his tailcoat — and what sort of a thief wore last season's tailcoat? — with something in his hands. He stood from where he was crouched, startled by the sudden addition in the room. 

"Oh, hello! You must be the other thief; it is a pleasure to meet you, though I do wish it were under more pleasant circumstances." The stranger had a familiar voice, but it was not until he turned that Mr. Hugo recognized whom he was speaking with, domino mask be damned. 

Almost twenty years had passed since they were teens and he was taller, his shoulders broader; he was a handsome man even in outdated attire, though his boots were brand new, but it was still the unmistakable Mr. Sylvain Gautier — though he would be a Lord now, Mr. Hugo did realize. Indeed, his silly mask did hardly a thing to prevent his identity from being deduced, and Mr. Hugo wondered if it were an idea that Sylvain had garnered from a novel or from the theater. Sylvain had always been a bit of a dramatic. 

Sylvain had also never been one to mince words. "I see that my handsome self has caught you off guard, but—" 

"You have something I want," stated Mr. Hugo in a manner most plain, his voice low as he could muster. 

"What, but this?" Sylvain held up a small pouch, an opened safe empty behind him. "For what use is this to someone already so wealthy?" 

"I could ask that of you." 

Sylvain's smile barely faltered, but it did dim for which Mr. Hugo was observant enough to take note. "I was merely referring to how a man of your handsome visage must be rich with offers, so a mere trinket such as this must be naught but a small piece in your eyes." 

Mr. Hugo snorted. He stepped into the office and shut the door; it was unnaturally still inside with it closed, and it felt like Mr. Hugo could hear Sylvain breathe. 

"You were the one who stole the pearl necklace from the Varleys and the coins from the Vestras, were you not?" 

Sylvain gave Mr. Hugo a flourish of a bow. "The same. And is it presumptuous if I ask if you were the one who stole the chalice from the Essars, the crest from the Arundrels, and the statue from the von Aegirs?" 

Mr. Hugo nodded. "And I will be the one to take the gem from you, whether you wish it or no." He strode forward and was caught off-guard when Sylvain met him in the middle. 

Less than a foot remained between the two gentlemen thieves. Mr. Hugo had never been so thankful for the cravat across his face, knowing it obscured his features quite heavily, but he did wonder — surely Sylvain did not recognize him? Or was he merely playing out the just? For there was no encounter in which Sylvain did know who Mr. Hugo was without declaring such, and there was no opportunity where they met once more and Sylvain did not exclaim upon the unlikelihood. 

It had been many years since they last parted, Mr. Hugo taken away in a coach and four, certain the occasion would be the last he would see of his closest and dearest friend. Unless — but no, Mr. Hugo could not entertain the thought that Sylvain had forgot him.

"What are you to do to me then, mysterious stranger?" Sylvain asked, eyes glittering even in the darkness. 

Mr. Hugo felt his breath hitch. "You are bold." 

"I am a gentleman thief; I see that which I desire and I am plain in my declarations." 

"But you are not plain." 

Sylvain tilted his head. "No, I would not be described as such, though neither would one like yourself." 

Mr. Hugo leaned forward. His eyes searched Sylvain's face, but he could see no deceit. There was an undeniable energy between the two of them, an aura that Mr. Hugo had not felt in his whole life save once. He did not know it, but Sylvain was thinking of the same occasion. 

Naturally, Sylvain hadn't the faintest clue that the person he once loved was now in front of him once more. He also had no chance to inquire or realize such, as Mr. Hugo snatched the bag from his hand and then pushed him aside. 

Mr. Hugo ran forward, breaking the window with an elbow and then jumping out. He rolled on the cobblestone street, disturbing a beggar. He ran down the street, not wasting the time to look around or to see if he was being followed by the other thief or by anyone else. Mr. Hugo took several twists and crossed multiple bridges before slowing, though not stopping. 

He tugged down his cravat so it hung around his neck. His chest heaved against his waist coat; he wore a particularly heavy and constricting fabric out of necessity, but it did render such athletic activities rather difficult except in short bursts. Still, besides a few extra creases in his trousers, he looked acceptable enough as a middle class man on his way home from a nightly rendezvous with a lover. Hardly appropriate, but not illegal either. 

It was with this in mind that he pocketed the gem bag — though not before checking it to confirm that yes, it contained a large ruby as his informant had advised him — and made his way to the flat which he called home. 

There was still a candle lit as he entered, though his flatmate, Mr. Ashe Ubert, had fallen asleep in their sole armchair. An old but well-loved novel sat halfway down his chest and he snored lightly. Mr. Hugo felt a fond smile appear on his face before banishing it away; though they were business partners, they were friends first, and while Mr. Hugo was no longer a gentleman, that did not mean he had abandoned his upbringing. 

He had the kettle on the stove and was placing the ill-gotten gains in a loose floorboard upstairs when Mr. Ubert awoke. Mr. Hugo descended the staircase, expressionless as he regarded Mr. Ubert. 

"Oh my — Mr. Hugo, my apologies. It appears that I did lose myself to sleep, though you being here means, I suppose, that there were no complications of your walk?" Mr. Ubert wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Being only in casual dress of trousers, a shirt, his waist coat, and a cheap cravat, he lacked his handkerchief and was in a state of social undress, but Mr. Hugo cared not a whit. Indeed, being two bachelors of modest means, it was hardly as if they had any sensibilities between them that could be offended by brutish behavior. The two had seen each other in much more literal states of undress without fit or fear, though they did not make a habit of it as both were rather shy. 

"It was a pleasant night." Mr. Hugo began to serve tea for them both, though he did not bother fetching any of their meager supply of sugar or milk, nor did Mr. Ubert ask for any. "Though I did encounter another on a walk, that which I believe is responsible for the news of which we have been following so closely." 

Mr. Ubert gasped. "Really! My — and what of him? Was he as we thought, or much different? Does he seem like a merry fellow, one we could become acquaintances with, or shall we endeavor to avoid him?" 

Mr. Hugo considered what he knew of Sylvain, which was very little beyond the reputation that he had garnered even in the lesser circles of London society. He could hardly weigh matters past two decades in his judgement of Sylvain's character in the present. 

"I am unsure, but what is important is that I did secure that which we were looking for; once more your contacts proved useful, my friend." 

"And thank the Lord for that — though I should thank you as well, for we both know I would do a sorry job of retrieval. But, ah, I take it you left it where we usually leave things?" Mr. Ubert inquired, to which Mr. Hugo confirmed. "Very well. In a few days I shall call upon my friends to settle the matter entirely. Otherwise, we would do best to keep ourselves as is to not attract suspicion, save if you do have another opinion?" 

"You are kind, but you know that I do not." 

"Ah, that I knew I will confess, so I do have an invitation to extend." Mr. Ubert appeared mildly chagrined for his presumptuous action, though not enough to prevent him from continuing. "As it were, one of my old acquaintances — from when I was a boy, for, as you know, I grew up on this side of the Channel — recently contacted me upon hearing that I had returned to London. It appears that he is visiting with his father and he has procured an invitation to a ball at the Hresvelg estate in not but three nights. Alas, it is a short notice, but I did not want to distract you from our immediate goals." 

This information piqued Mr. Hugo's attention. "The Hresvelg estate? Are they not the richest and most influential of the families this season? By what means does your friend intend on smuggling us in? I have no wishes to go to a ball as the help." 

Mr. Ubert laughed. "Nor would I ask that of you. Nay, it is simple enough. My friend has a great deal of influence, for he was Lady Hresvelg's personal tutor for many years before she was sent to finishing school in France — but that is old news — and according to the invitation, Lady Hresvelg still holds much regard for her old teacher. With him, we may go as we please." Mr. Ubert levelled a critical eye to Mr. Hugo's threadbare coat and worn wool cravat. "Though perhaps the two of us shall spend a little now to gain a little later, eh?" 

"That is amicable enough to me, my friend. Now, if you will, I take my leave for the night. My walk has left me rather fatigued." 

"But of course. I will see you in the morning, and do not fear — this time, I will blow the candle out before I sleep." 

****

_Dearest Madame Arnault,_

_I know I have just spoken with you — and I will take this moment to extend my regards to the lovely Ms. Manuela, for she is just as ravishing in person as she is on stage — and please forgive my impropriety upon writing to you so soon, but I must tell you of my encounter the other day. I fear if I tell no one, I must surely perish. Books speak of the lady falling ill with emotion, but has it ever occured to a gentleman or am I truly the first to burn this hot with these accursed flames?_

_But I digress._

_As you do know, I spend much of my free time, which is to say very little time, on long walks; I find them soothing even in the city. I was on such a soothing walk just the other day when I did encounter a most peculiar gentleman, one with dark hair and golden eyes and, as I must confess, the most shabby attire; despite his appearance, I found myself wanting to know him more intimately, almost criminally some may say. A foolish thought, I assure you, but one that I have not felt since I was but a boy of five and ten, my childhood love setting sail to finishing school. _

_Did I ever tell you of that childhood romance? Oh, but to be a boy again wherein my deepest fears were whether my friend would be free to wander the grounds together or ride our horses access the countryside! But I must sound like — and excuse my language — a right prat for lauding on about my times as a boy as we did have much different childhoods._

_Oh, my heart — it feels light as a feather! Please send me word when we can meet in person, for I have ever more to discuss with you and I think I cannot wait until the ball — for which we are still to attend together, are we not?_

_Your friend,_

_Sylvain Gautier _

****

_My friend Lord Gautier, _

_I am available between the hours of 1400 and 1800. Tell me everything. _

_Yours,_

_Dorothea Arnault _

****

A ball was quite the affair during the season; who was invited, who wasn't invited, what people wore, who one danced with, who one didn't dance with — all was the subject of a great deal of scrutiny. And, of course, the refreshments would be critiqued and the candle wax examined and bless your soul if even a single musician played out of tune! 

Most extravagant of all balls were the ones held by the the Lady Hresvelg; an invitation to such a grand event was turned down only by the dead or about to be as all the world seemed to fill her halls. Even the recent thefts, which many feared would be an excuse to halt the grandest event of the season, held no sway over Lady Hresvelg's fête. 

It was with a critical gaze that Mr. Ubert and Mr. Hugo were admitted into the ball, their invitations permissible only due to the presence of Mr. Byleth Eisner and his father, Mr. Eisner. While the two middle-class gentlemen had scavenged up appropriate garb, their attire was still shabby compared to the custom-fit tailcoats, silk gloves, and top hats that adorned the lords, dukes, viscounts, and assorted gentlemen who made up guests at the event. If either had any hope of a dance, it would be from their personal charm and golden smiles and not the gold in their pockets.

As they entered the ball, Mr. Eisner took his leave, begging their pardon as he had to connect most pressingly with an old acquaintance from the Church. He left the three young gentlemen to their own devices, their voices hardly audible over the swell of music and crowd. 

"I shall have to introduce you both to Ms. Martritz and Ms. Dominic. It is a shame that I was not your tutor the same year, for you would have gotten along quite amicably," stated Mr. Byleth. "Also, the two young ladies may be in need of partners for a dance." 

Mr. Ubert laughed. "Well, I shall hardly decline the opportunity for a dance with lovely young ladies, especially if they have your seal of approval, my friend; but Mr. Hugo is much more critical than I — I do believe he has come to make comments of the dresses and coats more than to dance and chatter.” 

“You paint me a dour man,” commented Mr. Hugo. 

“Why, I only seek to paint a portrait; whatever colors are used are of your own design.” 

Mr. Byleth smiled and bid the two follow; together, the three made their way around the edge of the ball and away from the entrance. Mr. Hugo took note of every lady with a bracelet, every gentleman with a pocket watch. He did not plan on acquiring any, but it was always best to be aware of what opportunities did exist. 

He did not expect to hear a familiar voice, though the last time they had spoken was in French and now she uttered English, her French accent just audible enough to be charming and not distracting — as if she could not hide such a trait, or conceal it for a German, Dutch, or Spanish trill at the drop of a hat. 

“You really should have introduced us sooner, Lord Gautier. It makes me wonder who else you are hiding from me,” cried Madame Arnault. She bordered impropriety with the sleeves and cut of her dress, the style more accustomed to a French songstress, for that was her profession and she would not allow the strict standards of the English to cause her to hide that which she knew she could boast. Indeed, the maroon fabric with bold black and gold lace and her carefully placed black hat — why, it was enough for a proper lady to reach for her smelling salts!

Aside her were the Lords Gautier and Blaiddyd, the Countess Galatea, and their friends Ms. Martritz and Ms. Dominic. Countess Galatea was elegant in her baby blue petticoats, whereas Ms. Martritz kept to a plain tan with white lace. Ms. Dominic held no such humility and attracted quite the attention with her orange and gold dress — perhaps a bit young of a choice, but she was quite the ageless sight.

Both Lord Blaiddyd and Gautier were adorned in dark trousers, though that was where the similarities ended. Lord Blaiddyd had his military garb, along with decorated epaulette and aiguillette cord draped under his left armpit. His hair had been done by his manservant, Mr. Molinaro, who hovered behind his lord unnoticed like any good help. With his unfashionably long hair out of his face, the long scar and eyepatch was visible, though that only drew more attention from both curious ladies and competitive men. 

However, it was the Lord Gautier that made Mr. Hugo falter in step, his breath catching. 

Lord Gautier wore a dark blue tailcoat with silver buttons. His cravat was a white fabric, his gloves made of the finest material — even at a distance, Mr. Hugo could tell that Sylvain must have spent a small fortune on them, as they fit his hands with hardly a crease. And even the cut of his trousers — why, there was not an unnecessary thread, the fit hanging with perfect creases. It was clear these had been fit for this ball and certainly would never be seen again. The Lord did also tease wealth in the pocket watch that was tucked into his tailcoat, the silver chain just visible when he gestured broadly which, as a gentleman of many emotions, he was prone to do. 

Mr. Hugo was a confident man, but the sight inspired hesitation and perhaps fear. What could he dare presume, seeing such a flagrant display of wealth, as to the possibility of rekindling their mutual acquaintance? He was to have no choice, however, as Mr. Byleth strode forward with boldness unbecoming his status — that was the privilege gained when you knew a prince when he was but a child, still innocent at heart. 

“My good professor!” Lord Blaiddyd exclaimed, the first cheerful words of his that night. 

“Professor, I knew not that you were in London, else I would have called upon you,” stated Ms. Martritz. Mr. Byleth’s former students — for which all but Madame Arnault were counted — were delighted to see him. “For what are you here? I imagine the Lady Hresvelg must have invited you?” 

“Indeed, and I imagined it would be unpresumptuous to seek my favorite former pupils in attendance — though do not tell the lady until after I have partaken in some of the appetizers,” teased Mr. Byleth. “I also wanted to make of your acquaintance another one of my pupils; this is Mr. Ubert and his friend, Mr. Hugo. This is the Marquess Gautier of —shire; Lord Blaiddyd, prince of —; Countess Galatea, and the Ms. and Ms. Martritz and Dominic. I confess, I am unfamiliar with the lady.”

“Mr. Hugo?” Sylvain questioned, only to be drowned out by — 

"Mon ami chéri — qu'est-ce que tu fais là? Ca fait tellement d'années ! Je pensais que tu étais mort!" Madame Arnault stepped forward, her arms outstretched. A rare smile flickered on Mr. Hugo’s face as he embraced her and the two pressed kisses to each other’s cheeks. 

"Non, est-ce là Madame Arnault? Quelle chance! Je suis enchanté," replied Mr. Hugo. “It is my pleasure to meet you as well, my Lords and Ladies. As Mr. Byleth has stated, my name is Mr. Hugo.” 

“Handsome and multilingual — you do have quite some interesting friends, Madame Arnault,” stated Lord Gautier, though his eyes dwelled on Mr. Hugo. 

Madame Arnault laughed. “Mr. Hugo does not need your empty flattery, my dear. He is already proud enough for the three of us, I assure you — but he is also one of my dearest friends. I have known him since we were young — what was it? Quatorze ans? Plus? Que devrais-je leur dire?" 

"Pas beaucoup, s'il te plaît." Mr. Hugo cleared his throat. “My apologies, but it is so rare that I meet another so fluent in my language that it is — refreshing. I promise we speak nothing ill of you, only complain about the weather as us French are apt to do.”

“Lord Gautier studied French,” said Mr. Byleth, and Mr. Hugo felt a moment of fear — “Though he did not hear most of those lessons. By my best recollection, he slept through the majority of them and skipped the rest.” The group politely laughed, none more so than Lord Gautier. 

“If I may, Mr. Hugo, you speak English as well as my father and he is a true-blooded Brit,” remarked Ms. Dominic. “I wish I had been taught French, but my father thought German superior.” 

The music died down and the party politely clapped. As it begun again, Mr. Byleth inquired as to Countess Galatea’s hand; the two absconded, followed by Mr. Ubert and Ms. Dominic. Ms. Martritz was asked by another gentleman of distant acquaintance, a young lord of the Bergliez family. Mr. Hugo was content to stand to the side — none of the ladies were interested in him, nor he in them — when Madame Arnault took his arm.

“Mon ami, danse avec moi?” She inquired. 

Mr. Hugo rolled his eyes — quite the rude gesture, but for all the years that had passed, Madame Arnault’s memories of her prickly friend had not faded — but he did lead her onto the floor. The two joined the throng quite well, though Mr. Hugo was clearly of ill practice; he stumbled over several steps at first and almost collided, embarrassingly, with another pair. After not a half minute, though, his own training returned, though on occasion he was apt to begin moving the opposite direction and Madame Arnault forced to correct him. 

If she was bothered by this, her wide smile and easy footwork betrayed not the slightest. "Alors, qu'est-ce tu faisais pendant tout ce temps?" 

"Je faisais des choses. C'était... sans importance. Ma vie n'est pas vraiment intéressante. Et toi?"

"Pas plus que toi. Je chante, je danse — mes camarades et moi voyageons autour du monde. C'est très agréable." The two were silent for some time, before Madame Arnault's spoke, "Aha, et — regarde comme le marquis t'observe." 

"Eh? Pardon?" 

"Le marquis! Il t'a observé toute la soirée. Tu sais qu'il a une garçonnière."

"Il est marié?"

Madame Arnault laughed. "Non, non, il n'a personne — mais, il s'intéresse à toi." 

"Tu plaisantes, ma chère."

"Moi? Non, jamais." The song came to an end. Madame Arnault gave Mr. Hugo a polite curtsy, which he returned with a bow. Before he could flee to the side of the room, he felt someone tap his shoulder. 

“My apologies, but is the next dance taken?” The Marquess Gautier inquired. Mr. Hugo shook his head and made to excuse himself, but Lord Gautier quickly clarified — “I meant you, Mr. Hugo. I see that Madame Arnault has many admirers, and it would be a shame to put myself between curious gentlemen and a beautiful woman." 

A giggle escaped Madame Arnault. "You flatter me, my lord. But I shall take my leave for the two of you to… dance." She had no difficulty finding a partner for the next dance, which started up while Mr. Hugo was still appraising Lord Gautier with careful eyes. 

"Look, they are in need of another pair, else it will be unbalanced and a great shame," Lord Gautier indicated. He extended a gloved hand, smile on his face. "Shall we dance?" 

Mr. Hugo let out an ungrateful snort before nodding, accepting the offer with as much grace as he could. Their joining of the dance was not, strictly speaking, necessary to balance the pairs. Thus a wave of whispers spread through the room like rain, but this was Lord Sylvain Gautier, known for scandal and intrigue and too much money for his own good. Nevertheless, a man could dance with another man if it was required by the conventions of the dance; the more scandalous fact of their dance was that Mr. Hugo was clearly a season behind in his fashion. 

This dance was less formal than the first few, intended to bring a bit of light-hearted merriment for those who perhaps sought more than just some pretty candles and good drink. Out of the corners of his eyes, Mr. Hugo could see Ms. Martritz laughing as she danced with a different gentleman than earlier. Ms. Dominic was dancing with Ms. Martritz's previous partner while Mr. Ubert and the Countess stood aside and talked, both with smiles on their faces. 

However, despite his greatest efforts Mr. Hugo could not tear his eyes from Sylvain. There was an undeniable attraction, a magnetic pull that drew them towards one another every time they had to drift apart; every step closer was light as air and every step away felt like walking on broken glass. Mr. Hugo's heart beat on and on and on, pounding against his chest like waves on the shore — and much like the shore, he could feel his resolve crumble with every step, every moment. 

The dance ended with another round of applause, the couple's bidding each other a good night as they split to seek another partner. In the center of the hall, neither Felix nor Sylvain moved. 

Sylvain licked his lips. "Do you fancy yourself a literary man, Mr. Hugo?" 

"I am a purveyor of many classics, though I confess I am less well-read in matters contemporary." 

"It matters not; indeed, I would hope to impress you with a library that is not even my primary collection." 

"That is rather forward of you, Lord Gautier." Mr. Hugo took a step off the floor, the music once more raising as the next dance came fully into swing. "I must beg my leave — it would not do to abandon my friend, though I suppose it is impossible to avoid one such as yourself." 

"When shall I see you again?" Sylvain asked, sounding almost uncharacteristically desperate. "Do you — could I write to you?" 

Mr. Hugo allowed himself a smile, though it was not a kind smile. "I imagine that you are not a difficult man to find, Lord Gautier; similarly, I hope it is not too bold if I do say that we shall be seeing each other rather soon." 

An understanding passed between them. Sylvain laughed. "You are even more a mystery than I originally thought, Mr. Hugo, and I daresay I will endeavor to know you better than any other soul." 

"Then you shall certainly have a task ahead of you, and I cannot say that I wish you success." Mr. Hugo watched as Sylvain walked away. Almost without a moment's passing, Mr. Ubert appeared aside Mr. Hugo. 

"What did he ask? What did you do to garner his eye?" Mr. Ubert asked. 

"I believe that the good Lord Gautier is one more akin to us than any in this room believes," stated Mr. Hugo. "Else I am a bigger fool than you even tease." 

"Oh, I think you are a fool, but a smart one; to your discretion I leave this." 

Mr. Hugo sighed. "And that is what I fear." 

****

_My son,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health. I pray that your time during the season is beneficial. It is a shame that your mother and I could not join you, but she sends her best — her health is improving and the physicians hope that once the summer heat passes, it will be better. Do write to her more often, she pines._

_I write you with several concerns. _

_As you know, you are not a young man any more than I am — in fact, some would state that you are older, as an unmarried gentleman has fewer fears of life left than a married one, who may grow fat and lazy now that he is secure in knowing his lineage is continued. You go to London each season and yet not a single offer has been made! I know it has naught to do with your considerable wealth — which you gained from me — nor your wisdom — which was gifted from me — nor your handsome veneer — which, again, you inherited from me. Indeed, you are perhaps the most desired of bachelors, save your mangey friend the Prince, though I question anyone's choice in him over a handsome and sane man such as yourself. _

_You know that each year you return from London without any matches, your mother dispairs more; as I am a sensible man, I do understand! You are a virile man who wishes to explore the possibilities of beauty and grace, but I assure you that these are things that can be known even when you are married — happily so! _

_Thus I shall not mince my words; my son, when are you getting married? The fact is that your impropriety has started the spread of most unkind and salacious rumors, that which I scarcely believe you have not heard yourself; surely you must be deaf to them, else you must endeavor to answer them yourself. I shall not tarnish this paper with those words, but I beg of you to consider your name and our family legacy. There are many women of eligible and desirable name that would provide a rich match. I know you have close acquaintances with the songstress Madame Arnold, but surely you must have a more fitting courtship waiting for you to say the right words and marry her. _

_Do not be like your brother._

_And I wish that were but the sole concern that I, your dear father, do have — however there is the matter of the recent ball that my fear does dwell on as well. Do say, my son, that it is simple malicious rumor that spreads when they state that you did entertain a fellow gentleman in dance at the ball held by Lady Hresvelg? Surely you would not do such a thing — and not with someone who reportedly does not even have an English name! This Philip Hugo — say he is naught but a trifle, little more than an exotic interest, if he must be more than rumor at all. _

_Please consider your family legacy, your own reputation, and your future as the Marquess of —shire! If you care so little for yourself, then think of myself, my legacy — certain as England doth control the West, surely you would not let our family fail. We have endured centuries of war, plague, beheadings, and even your awful brother’s irresponsibility. Do not add your own rebellion to what the Gautier name must survive. _

_I did not raise an invert. _

_Your father,_

_Marquess Gautier_

#

Lord Sylvain Gautier twirled a flower between his gloved fingers as he waited for his fellow to arrive, certain as the darkness that cloaked him that this would be where the mysterious Mr. Hugo would target on that warm night. T’was hardly a difficult estimation, for even if Lord Gautier had not encountered Mr. Hugo at the ball — and oh, Lord Gautier did say his prayers that night as naught but a miracle could have connived of such an event — there were but few estates left to plunder. 

Great consideration had been placed as to whether whether Mr. Hugo lived in London or if he planned to leave with the season, which was drawing to close soon. It was impossible to ask Mr. Hugo to return with him, as the only way he could would be as a butler and Lord Gautier was not fool enough to ask such a thing. Besides, it would be criminal to ask to capture such a free spirit and, more to the point, Marquess Gautier would never allow it. Despite Lord Gautier’s free nature, he was still subject to the whims of his father, who did control his fortunes literal and figurative. 

There were few things that Lord Gautier was deterred from when his father stated his disapproval. In fact, there was no way to guarantee his desire to do something more than his father’s explicit lack of permission. 

The drawing room door opened. 

Mr. Hugo slinked in, once-black and now grey frock coat hanging over plain trousers and slightly obscuring a vest with red embroidery. His face was partially covered by his cravat, but Lord Gautier still could remember the way his lips caught candlelight and he yearned to trace them with his tongue. 

Mr. Hugo leveled an utterly unimpressed expression towards his compatriot. “I cannot claim to be shocked, alas I did hope it would not come to—” Mr. Hugo’s eyes narrowed. “Are those flowers?” 

Lord Gautier grinned, striding forward and extending his hand. There was a bouquet of red tulips, purple primroses, and crimson roses; a charming silk ribbon was tied round the stems, elaborate bow having taken Lord Gautier quite some time to make. Mr. Hugo regarded them with utter disdain, though that did little to prevent Lord Gautier from crossing the rest of the space so he could press the flowers to Mr. Hugo’s chest. 

There was plenty of time for Mr. Hugo to turn or deny the gift, but he did not — rather, he drew closer, though he did not take the flowers. The petals crumpled and several fell, but Lord Gautier refused to waver. 

“Do you care for them?” Lord Gautier inquired. “The tulips are Dutch. Imported and purchased this morning from a ship fresh from her journey.” 

Mr. Hugo snorted. “So you are as rich as your reputation states. Shall I be struck by passion or love? Do you feel that my affections might be bought like a foolish maid who thinks of naught but knights and estates and living with unimaginable wealth? Or do you taunt me as one does to a stray dog, bone in one hand and fist in the other? If you seek to insult me, be brave enough to do it where I can challenge you to a duel—”

“Nay, I do not have these intentions,” cried Lord Gautier. “I present these to you in a most earnest manner, I do swear it. If I were to be dishonest, I would not sulk in an estate at night for the past three strikes of the bell while waiting for you to appear.”

The silence fell over them. Mr. Hugo crossed his arms. 

“You are a fool. Have you at least found the location of the safe and unsealed it, or did you stand here rehearsing your speech the whole night?” 

“I confess, locating it was easy but my talent with lockpicks leaves much to be desired," admitted Lord Gautier. 

Mr. Hugo snorted. He strode past Lord Gautier, following where he indicated that the safe was located. He ignored the flowers. Not to be disappointed, Lord Gautier pulled a purple primrose from the bouquet and stood behind Mr. Hugo. While Mr. Hugo was distracted with the safe, Lord Gautier slid the feather into his ungentlemanly long hair. 

And oh, how his hair was unruly and unfashionable, as the long man's queue had not been worn for many a year, not least by proper gentlemen outside of perhaps the lawmaker's robes. But Mr. Hugo kept his hair with a piece of silk tied in a ribbon and it did prove most temping for Lord Gautier to untie and see, in all its glory, the wonderful raven locks that Mr. Hugo possessed. His fingers resisted the temptation though he was shocked, certainly, that Mr. Hugo did not notice the flower in his hair. 

The safe unlocked with a soft _click._

"And with that," stated Mr. Hugo as he reached inside and took the sparkling gold tiara, slipping it into a small bag secured on the inside of his jacket, "I take my leave." He stood but did not move, watching Lord Gautier with those cautious eyes. He was silhouetted by a window and, even with the curtains drawn, did glow a most unnatural hue but — and this was the most common knowledge that even a pauper in Edinburgh knew of this — Lord Gautier was a man enamored with beauty and there was not a person, place, or thing he had seen that more captured his eye. 

"You are beautiful," Lord Gautier murmured, voice hardly half a whisper. 

Mr. Hugo's eyes went wide. He stole away, running down the corridor with not a thought for noise — indeed, he ran with such a frightful step that Lord Gautier did soon hear a guard came towards the room to investigate. He made his own, stealthy way out of the estate and was already halfway to his own flat when he did realize that the bouquet had been abandoned at the scene of the crime. 

#

_“FLOWERS LEFT AT SCENE OF LATEST THEFT - SCOTTISH YARD SILENT AS CONCERNS OVER ROBBERIES MOUNT”_

_All of London waits with bated breath as news of the latest theft, this from the estate of the Hresvelg family, spreads on this dreary morn. It was reported at five in the morning that the family relic referred to as the Ruby Tiara was missing from its safe location. It was confessed by the maid who did discover the theft that there was also a bouquet of flowers abandoned at the scene of the crime. _

_No parchment nor other sigil or symbol was found according to official reports, though the investigation does continue into today. No word has been given as to the flowers themselves, though an unnamed source told the Times that they did include red roses. Are they a sign of something more sinister or is this thief some slighted lover? _

_Many may recall the tense engagement between Lady Hresvleg and Lord Prince Blaiddyd, which was dissolved after unknown circumstances after a mere three month period. Or these thefts could be the product of a jealous suitor, for many know that Lady Hresvleg remains one of the most desired bachelorettes in Britain. _

_While it is of yet unknown whether the most recent theft does have relation to those prior, if they are not then there must be fear of a mimic. Shall all of London be gripped with fear over these thefts? Are there any who can catch the criminal who does flaunt common decency? _

_No representative of the Hresvleg estate replied in time for printing._

#

Mr. Ubert was more enamored with Lord Gautier than a mindless lady, Mr. Hugo decided upon the fifth night of returning from casing the next estate, for Mr. Ubert did stay up each night and ask if Mr. Hugo had encountered the Lord Gautier. 

“No,” Mr. Hugo replied on each occasion. 

“A shame,” responded Mr. Ubert, or with some equivalent. “Have you fancied a visit to his estate?” 

“No.”

“For what do you hesitate so? Lord Gautier is a wealthy man — certainly he must have much to, ah, redistribute.”

“No.”

“But you have not even considered it! And you have garnered his attentions, which is a feat that not all can boast of, which does imply that he would readily give you his favor."

“I do not want his favor. I am not a blushing maiden, nor do I desire to be treated as such. I do wish you would drop the discussion, if just for the sake of our friendship.”

And that, oftentimes, was that — save for the next night, wherein Mr. Ubert would inquire once more of how the walk transpired. Mr. Hugo, after the receipt of a letter from Madame Arnault inspired Mr. Ubert to pester him for information, did promise to visit Lord Gautier if only Mr. Ubert were to give him peace and make an oath that he would cease his endless questioning. 

“I do swear, on my honor!” Mr. Ubert crossed himself.

“Ah yes, the honor of a thief — what a weight of wealth in that!” But Mr. Hugo let the topic settle and, on his own honor, dressed in his best on the morrow to visit Lord Gautier. 

“I am sorry, but his lordship is occupied,” stated the butler, his critical eye investigating Mr. Hugo’s thinning coat, sweaty cravat — as he had to venture ‘cross most of London, the location of the Gautier estate only a vague notion — and overall ragged appearance. “Do you have a calling card?” 

It was clear that Mr. Hugo had none. He exhaled and crossed his arms, allowing his uncouth appearance to bleed into his demeanor. “Your lord requested my presence personally, and he would be most upset if he did find that you turned me aside.”

The butler widened his eyes, his mouth opening and closing in sheer disbelief. “Do — do you _threaten_ me?” 

“I merely wish to inform you that you are making a mistake.” 

“I — I cannot! I must insist that you do leave the premises before I send for the constable!” 

“My God, for what do you hold the door ajar? You let the summer heat into the flat, wilting the plants most dreadfully. Who is it, then? If it is Ms. Casagranda, do apologize but I find myself unprepared for polite company—”

Mr. Hugo cleared his throat. “Lord Gautier, please inform your butler that I have permission to enter and that I am unlikely to steal the silverware.” 

Not a moment passed when Sylvain half-shoved his own butler aside. He wore simpler clothes than he had donned at the ball, as per a gentleman in his own home, but he still was better dressed than Mr. Hugo. Any disdain was hidden behind a bright smile and warm eyes. He ordered his butler to call a maid for tea and sandwiches — and without a thought, Mr. Hugo found himself sitting in the parlor across from Sylvain. 

The lord seemed most nervous, face so flushed that it almost matched his hair. “I am — I am most pleased that you accepted my invitation, Mr. Hugo.”

“I am visiting for your library.”

“Ha, to the point and hardly a dull one. Well, I shall promise that we will visit the library before you depart. But please, allow me to learn more of yourself.”

“There is little to learn. I am from France. I came here for opportunity. I am a man of modest means — dare I say, the perfect for you to cause scandal. I am no fool, Lord Gautier. I know of the rumors that spread after the ball.”

Sylvain adopted a brief grimace, but to his credit did recover with a tilt of his head. “I would be a coward and a liar if I did not confess that yes, there is a thrill to the unknown, but you share that with me. And more to the point, I would not entertain you as I have if I did not desire more than a scandal with you. They say that a man’s actions do make him true, so I ask: do you find any falsehood in my actions towards you?”

Mr. Hugo felt like a handkerchief lost in the wind. “But why do I attract you so? This is not a false humility — I know that you could have any lady or countess, that any woman of any wealth would be honored to marry one such as yourself. I have nothing. I am a gentleman of no considerable wealth—”

“And I am a man of considerable wealth who can afford any amount of scrutiny. My interest lies with you. I find you handsome and charming and, if I may be so bold, I have found none who I have felt so… so enticed to before. No, that is an understatement — you fascinate me. I am a man of taste, of art—”

“Doubtful.”

“—And I have never seen anyone who I have wanted to know more than you.” Sylvain hesitated, realizing what he was confessing. “I — you must think this rather odd.”

“You are rather queer, perhaps, and while I have half the mind to declare you a fraud and a liar, I do wish an answer from you, one unrelated to this ridiculous line of thought,” said Mr. Hugo, preferring not to dwell on memories and thoughts that stirred from Sylvain’s words. "What for are you a — a thief?" 

Sylvain's response was paused as the maid, burdened by a tray with tea, cups, sugar, milk, and small cakes, entered with a polite knock. She placed it between the two gentlemen and curtsied before asking if they required anything else. 

"No, thank you though. Take the rest of the day for your leisure, please. And tell the others that I am not to be disturbed." Sylvain flashed the maid a smile. She nodded, blushing a vibrant red, and scurried away. Sylvain turned the smile onto Mr. Hugo, but it was a different smile. 

Mr. Hugo wondered if it was too late to run away. 

"So now we shan't be disturbed," stated Sylvain most plainly. "Now, I will not bore you with the details, but I admit that I am one with a very refined life — naught to crave, to desire, since nothing is unattainable when your last name is Gautier. But it is natural for man to want what they cannot have and I began with small trinkets. This is the first season I have been so bold to, ah, fetch things from my fellows. Or, rather, such expensive things." 

"What do you do with what you acquire?" Mr. Hugo inquired. 

"Gifts, largely. Secret donations to the church." Sylvain waved a hand. "Things are easy to be rid of. How do you take your tea?" 

Mr. Hugo served himself. He sipped at it — the blend was sharp with a hint of spice that was unusual, for the norm was a more smooth and tasteless flavor. When he opened his mouth to inquire about the choice, Sylvain stated,

"I took a guess. I take it that this is to your liking?" 

"It is." Mr. Hugo changed topics. "You have reliable staff fitting your station. Will they not find it odd that you should not be disturbed?" 

"They have endured far stranger and know that I care for them more than most in my position. I can trust them to not gossip." 

The two sat in peaceful silence for some time, each enjoying their tea. Mr. Hugo did sample one of the pastries; it was fresh and light yet also quite rich with chocolate and butter. A bit sweet perhaps, as it was hardly past noon, but Mr. Hugo enjoyed the tea well enough. 

"Please, help yourself to more. I surely cannot finish them all myself," stated Sylvain with a gesture towards the cakes. 

Mr. Hugo grimaced. "My apologies, Lord Gautier, but I find them too sweet. I am more a fan of spices, such as those from the East, rather than the sugar grown in the West Indies. But they are quite good, just excessive for myself." 

"I knew someone, once, when I was but a boy of ten and three — when it was time for dessert, I would get it all and I would give my second helping of meat in exchange." Sylvain smiled a distant smile. "I often wonder what became of — but no, this is not a conversation for the present." 

Mr. Hugo bit his tongue most suddenly, for fear of confessing everything in that moment. Sylvain did not notice, his warm expression having returned to his visage. 

"So, before you are privy to my library, I must confess that I have little in the tongue of your homeland, though I imagine you must have no difficulty with English?" Sylvain looked almost bashful. "I do wish I studied French more than I, uh, did — not to say that the opportunity was lacking, but rather my willpower was." 

"I understand English perfectly well, though I appreciate your concern." 

"I did think so; in fact, if you do not mind my saying, your accent is quite good. Indeed, you could pass as a gentleman from my home, for you sound like one of my men — though your speech is much more refined than that of most gentlemen. Did you have a tutor?" 

Mr. Hugo considered his next words along with a sip of his tea. "I am fortunate to have learnt when I was young and that I did have many an influence who instructed me further in my studies. Once I arrived in London, my companion Mr. Ubert advised me further. As for the exact tilt of my tongue, I can only imagine that it must be adopted from those I hear most frequently around; I work as a watchmaker. As you may imagine, my most frequent customer is one closer to your wealth than mine." _Yes, a suitable lie,_ Mr. Hugo thought. 

"Well, if I require my pocket watch to be fixed, I shall visit you." Sylvain's smile grew. "You are quite talented — few could claim to be a man of your talent and I am most intrigued by how you did learn so much, but! I do not wish to unmask the mystery so soon." He took a final sip of his tea before standing and extending a hand to Mr. Hugo.

It was ignored as Mr. Hugo got to his feet, adjusting his jacket with a slightly disconcerted expression. Sylvain indicated that he should follow, which occurred as Sylvain led the way through the flat. It was smaller than a grand estate fully suiting one of his wealth, but it was still a far cry from the small space Mr. Hugo shared with Mr. Ubert. 

The two of them ascended a series of stairs and then turned down a long hall. Sylvain pointed to several paintings on the wall which displayed different family members throughout the years — they were all distinct, some in military garb or others in priestly blacks, but the same hair was present in each. Sylvain did not seem to have any art of himself, which Mr. Hugo noted but dared not comment on. 

"Je te présente — mon bibliothèque!" Sylvain stumbled through the French, his accent horrendous. Mr. Hugo still chuckled, following as Sylvain threw open the door leading to the library. 

It was beautiful, a vast collection that undoubtedly cost more coin than Mr. Hugo had held in his entire life. Four walls of books, a lounge chair, and a small desk with an oil lamp acted as the furniture and large, curtained windows provided the only light. Mr. Hugo had never seen a collection so vast save for the bookshop he walked past whenever Mr. Ubert took him for a real walk, not a thieving one. 

Sylvain was talking, but Mr. Hugo did not hear a word. He drifted across the room, his fingers hovering over the spines and his eyes greedily absorbing all they could see. The collection was a variety of texts, ranging from classics and including more contemporary tales — Mr. Hugo saw both romance and mystery, Shakespeare and Dickens. He hesitated when he saw a collection of _The Tale of King Arthur And His Knights_ which, as it was the favorite of Mr. Ubert, did peak his interest. 

"Oh? Are you a man who enjoys tales of dashing knights, heroic deeds, charming princes rescuing maidens in towers—" 

"No." Mr. Hugo tore himself away from the book, turning so he could face Sylvain directly. "I despise such novels, as they paint a picture of a universe that does not exist; for what use are tales of how the world cannot be? They serve as distractions from the realities of life." 

"And what," Sylvain questioned, stepping closer to Mr. Hugo, "Are those realities?" 

Mr. Hugo took a shaky breath. At this distance, he could see the light shining in Sylvain's eyes, could see the slightest hint of moisture on his lips. There was a dusting of sugar on his bottom lip and Mr. Hugo reached up and, with slow and deliberate movement, brushed it away. The light shone even brighter, it felt, in that small library. 

"I… forgive me, I do forget what I was saying, my Lord Gautier." 

Sylvain licked his lips. "Please, call me Sylvain. May I have your name in return, Mr. Hugo?" 

And oh, how Felix longed to do so! 

"Mon bien-aimé… Tu m'as manqué." It was as sentimental a thought as Felix had allowed himself all these long, lonely years; not that he had been entirely alone, as the companionship of Madame Arnault and then later Mr. Ubert did bolster him considerably, but he was lonely in the way that mattered most — the matter of the heart. 

But fear gripped him suddenly, and he could no more tell Sylvain the truth than he could pluck the crown from the Queen's head; so he did what he could think was second best and placed his lips upon Sylvain's lips, their arms embracing one another in the most tender and loving of embraces. 

As soon as they met, Felix pulled away quite suddenly, and he pretended to not notice the flash of hurt in Sylvain's eyes. 

"I must go," stated Mr. Hugo most plainly. 

"Please, don't." And, when neither moved in any manner, "I do not know why, but your mere presence inspires a joy in me that is unmatched by anyone or anything in my life. Please do not tell me you do not feel the same, for I could not bear it." 

"... You are a kinder gentleman than your reputation gives credit for, Sylvain. You have my sympathies, but it would be best if this does not continue — you must marry and I am no more eligible than a horse. And though it may be the gravest of sins, I carry too much pride to allow myself to be treated like one who can be courted for a summer and then discarded once the season has changed." 

"Mr. Hugo—" 

"Felix. Call me Felix." But Felix did not tarry and see how Sylvain responded, instead turning and fleeing from the estate without a glance backwards. Sylvain did not call for him, which was wise as Felix would not have answered. 

Mr. Hugo ran down the street, not a glance spared for those who found his rush so peculiar. It was fortunate that he did not meet any guards, for his appearance was most suspicious. He only took pause in an alley once he was safe in the streets where those more akin to him in class were located. His chest felt heavy and restricted in his vest, but his head was what did distract; he was light-headed and felt faint, the way he did the last time he and Sylvain had kissed. 

_Surely,_ Mr. Hugo thought, _he must know now._ For even Sylvain, most air-headed of all those in England, could make such basic connections — though perhaps the situation was so queer that the truth did not occur to him. But alas, there was naught to do but to hope that Sylvain would never call upon Mr. Hugo again. A tragedy, perhaps, but wasn't it best to stop the play halfway than see the end where the two lovers did die? 

Gathering his sense, Mr. Hugo exited the alley and thus made his way home. 

"How did your visit go?" Mr. Ubert asked when Mr. Hugo returned. 

"Dull. I brought a present for you." And Mr. Hugo placed a book on the table. 

Upon examining it, Mr. Ubert gasped in delight. "This is quite the copy! How ever did you retrieve it?" 

"It is a gift, worry not about the details. It is your favorite, is it not?" 

Mr. Ubert held the book _The Tale of King Arthur And His Knights_ close to his chest as he turned the pages, eyes wide. "Why yes, it is — and this is illustrated with gold foil! Tell me only this: will the previous owner miss it?" 

"I shall think not, and consider this book a gift in exchange for your silence on the matter of Lord Gautier." 

"Why, it is a gift worthy of a hundred such silences. I do promise to never speak of his name again, if that is your wish." 

And indeed, Mr. Ubert kept his word, not even questioning the appearance of a new pocket watch that Mr. Felix was investigating that night at his workbench. 

#

_My good friend Lord Blaiddyd, _

_I write to you with a most peculiar request, though I do believe that you are the man to assist me most well with this situation. Though I hope you are not insulted by this request — I only state that you have had great experience in locating old items for Mr. Molinaro, so I do hope that you can lend that skill to me._

_I find myself having lost a precious item of mine, one that does not have a monetary worth beyond the parts but does have much sentimental value. You may recall it, as I have used this pocket watch since we were children. It was a gift from our friend, engraved with my initials and a simple phrase on the back. Bronze, I think, and yes, out of fashion but not quite old enough to be an antique. _

_While I have only the faintest idea of where it could have been lost — I do not think that any of my help has taken it, for they would have had to have taken it from my own person — I would imagine it has little value at a pawn shop but perhaps there are specialty stores where the parts could be sold for scrap? I have cared for it most perfectly, so despite its age it is still a quality piece. _

_But I find myself rambling. I would most appreciate any suggestions that you do have as far as relocating it. _

_Do pass along my regards to Mr. Molinaro and you, as ever, have an invitation to tea whenever you so wish. Do bring him this time, for it has been many weeks since I have last seen his face and I shall forget it if this continues much longer. _

_Your friend,_

_Lord Sylvain Gautier _

****

_Dear Lord Gautier,_

_I have enclosed a list of possible shops that specialize in watches. If I think of the correct watch, then it would have to be sold for scrap — the engraving on the back that you mentioned would make it far too dangerous to carry for long. _

_I am sorry, but it is possible that it may prove impossible to locate. Of course, I have done the impossible before._

_Mr. Molinaro sends his regards. We promise to visit soon for tea. He will make some biscuits. Do you have a preference?_

_Yours, _

_Lord Blaiddyd _

****

_My good friend Lord Blaiddyd, _

_I appreciate your good advice in the matters most serious. I believe that I have determined who the culprit may be — now, we must hope that they have not yet sold their ill-gotten gains. But, we shall speak of kinder things. _

_Mr. Molinaro delights in all matters culinary. I care not what he does bring, only that he includes his good company as well. After all, no meal is complete without a good conversation. _

_Are you free on the 'morrow? I believe we have much to discuss, as I have information that I feel would be most important for you but that, alas, I feel discomfort in penning myself. _

_Your friend,_

_Lord Sylvain Gautier_

****

_Lord Gautier,_

_Mr. Molinaro and I will arrive at 12 sharp with biscuits and other light refreshments. I expect there to be tea._

_Yours,_

_Lord Blaiddyd _

****

This time, Mr. Hugo arrived first to the scene of the crime, though no crime had been committed as of yet. He was careful in his progression, aware of the reputation that the Boar of England held, but even more aware of the literal crown jewel that lay on display in the entryway. If Mr. Hugo could escape with it, he could abscond from London without a care in the world. The other rarities wilted when under the shine of wealth that the sapphire jewel possessed — even the Ruby Tiara was a mere distraction. 

But this was not a simple theft, for the estate of Lord Blaiddyd was one kept most carefully guarded by mercenaries from Africa. Mr. Hugo knew that there were a dozen throughout the estate — and it was truly an estate, the prince having lodgings both here and in his home province — as well as the prince's own manservant, who by all accounts was seven feet tall and had hands of a bear. Mr. Hugo knew these things to be facetious and ill spirited, but he still desired to avoid confrontation. 

His plan was simple but brokered no room for error. He was quick to slip into a side office, one out of the way of the main halls and hopefully far from the patrols done on a fifteen minute basis. His pocket watch advised that it was not yet one in the morning and he ensured his cravat was snug against his face; of all the times for his identity to be discovered, now would be the most unfortunate. 

Mr. Hugo waited for it to be three minutes to one before beginning his plan. 

He pulled open every drawer in the office and, in doing so, made as much a fuss as he could. He threw a paperweight through the window, the glass shattering all across the street, then lit a smoke bomb as he opened the office door. He could not hear any footsteps, so he set the smoke bomb in the doorway instead of nestled further inside. 

Without further ado, he began to make his way down the stairs to the first floor. There was an occasion where he found himself having to slink into a closet, a guard in leathers and armed with pistol and rapier making his way to the second floor as part of his nightly rotation. Mr. Hugo daren't breathe as the guard passed, but once he was cleared he finished the journey down without further incident. 

The display box where the crown jewel — a brilliant sapphire the size of a man's fist — lay in the entryway to the estate as many a lady and lord used it as an excuse to call upon the Lord Blaiddyd and he detested such visits with passion. Indeed, he maintained its presence only as a rejection of the gift would be social faux pas that even a prince could not endure. But, regardless of his own personal feelings in regards to the gem, he could not allow any harm to befall it. As such, a single guard spent his nights watching it, only cured of boredom when his replacement arrived at the stroke of two. 

Mr. Hugo arrived downstairs at five after one, the guard's back to the stairs as expected. Mr. Hugo withdrew another smoke bomb, though this one he did not set alight. He was careful in his aim and appraisal of the air, as he waited for his actions above to be made aware. As soon as the first cry of alarm did strike, he threw the unlit bomb into the dark night, shattering the window that it went through. 

The guard closest to the jewel cried out in alarm and, with all the certainty of a man about to catch a thief, went to see what had occurred. Mr. Hugo sat unseen in the shadows of a heavy drape near the stairs, his breath slow once more as the least sensible part of the plan — and admittedly, none of this was quite sensible by any turn of phrase — was carried out. But, through luck either made or earned, Mr. Hugo remained undetected. 

Once safe, he strode out of the shadows, broke the glass box containing the sapphire with a small hammer on his belt, and placed the gem in a pouch. He left the hammer. 

Then, as if this were something he did every day, he strode out the front door and ran for cover in the expansive gardens — and really, anyone with greenery this vast in London deserved to be stolen from. 

He knew he was being followed, but he was surprised still when a familiar voice called for him. 

Mr. Hugo grabbed Sylvain and pulled the two of them behind a collection of rose bushes, ignoring the thorns that dug into his clothes. Sylvain was in his own gentleman thief uniform, complete with that _foolish_ mask. Annoyance took control of Mr. Hugo as he ripped off the mask, tossing it somewhere in the grass. 

"Ow! What was that for?" 

"Do you think we are so alone that no one could hear you shouting my name for any with ears? Or are you so offended by my rejection that you do want me quartered and hung for my crimes?" 

Sylvain actually looked hurt, which made Mr. Hugo almost reconsider his words, but he had not taken any back as of yet and now he would not begin. 

"I do not wish any harm onto you, Mr. Hugo. But I am afraid that I do have to stop you from taking that which you came here for." Sylvain held out his hand, palm up and open. "Please, you do not want to take that. It in worth plenty of gold, yes, but also more in pride; the Queen herself would feel the affront if her gift to her son was taken so." 

"I knew this before I came; I am not such a fool as to steal without research, though I am a fool for thinking that you would sit idly by. Tell me this — how did you determine I would steal tonight of all nights? Or have you been watching constantly and sleeping through the days?" 

Sylvain's silence told story enough. Mr. Hugo scoffed. 

"Either take me in chains or let me go, but this jewel is enough for all my needs. I shan't give it back without a fight." 

"I will give you gold if it is what you seek! I can shower you in jewels and gems, necklaces and rings — whatever you desire, I can grant that to you and more. You needn't steal out of fear or hunger or poverty." 

"And what price must I pay? I am not someone who can be bought nor bribed; if I must claim a sin in the name of God, let it be pride for I would rather perish from an empty belly than feast in the gilded cage." 

"Do you not listen? For once in your life, listen! I see you not as a precious bird, but as an equal, and if you would but give me that chance to prove this then I will show you what a true courtship shall entail. Just please, let me take this gem and return it to the lord who it belongs to — do not make the mistake of angering this family, for though it be little it is fierce. If the tale of the Boar does not frighten you, then be frightened of the Tower where her Majesty keeps those who are foolish enough to anger her, and where no one but God and the Queen herself commands authority." Sylvain paused. "If you wish to be rid of me, I will give you all the gold in my pockets — which I do believe totals no meager sum — and take the gem from you and be gone forever from your life. But I cannot stand by and let you do this." 

Mr. Hugo did consider the words and oath that Sylvain lay in front of him. 

"You do not detest me for stealing a kiss from your lips?" 

Sylvain gave him a wry smile. "You have stolen much more than that, which I presume you know — and I do not refer to my pocket watch." 

No, Mr. Hugo had not even considered that a possibility. He found himself uncertain, a want in his heart deeper than any he did hold prior. Perhaps Sylvain was not the only one of them who let his heart get stolen. 

"And what, mon très cher ami, will happen when the season is over?" Mr. Hugo questioned. 

"We will face that together," replied Sylvain, though the French eluded him. A guard ran by and both men flinched, but they remained hidden in the bushes. 

Once they had passed, Sylvain reached out and grasped Mr. Hugo's cravat, though he did not pull on it until Mr. Hugo gave the barest of nods. 

The cloth slid off of Mr. Hugo's face, his skin pale in the moonlight. Mr. Hugo found his throat most dry though his palms were moist. He remembered promises murmured in gardens before and, unwillingly, drew out a pocket watch from his waist coat. Sylvain smiled upon seeing it.

"I shall say, I am more disappointed that you took that and not the coins out of my purse. I would have thought the coins more enticing." 

"I would have thought that a gentleman would have more expensive taste." Mr. Hugo gave it back, unclipping it from his own person and coiling the chain and watch neatly in Sylvain's grasp. "I was but borrowing it while mine was broken. I think you shall find better use of it than I, seeing as it does contain your initials and a promise you made." 

"Till the end of time," murmured Sylvain, a gloved finger brushing over the words engraved on the back. "A broken promise, I fear. If you wish, you may keep it; I did lose it fairly." 

"You did lose it most foully, if any do ask, but I insist. I am certain whoever she is, she would have wished you to have it." Mr. Hugo pretended the words did not pain him so. 

Sylvain let out a sad laugh, the sound mournful and cut short as he recalled their precarious position in the gardens. "She does not remember me, if she does still live to remember anything at all. But — the gem? And then we shall escape to my own residence, as I do think it a great deal closer than any flat you may be renting." 

Mr. Hugo was pained to withdraw the sapphire, but he did and he dropped it in Sylvain's other hand without a word. The grateful expression on Sylvain's face made this almost worth it, but Mr. Hugo bit his tongue even as Sylvain thanked him and slunk off to return the gem to his friend. Still, Mr. Hugo was not going to sit and wait and hope that the Scotland Yard did not haul him away on several counts of theft; he snuck out of the gardens and strolled down the street towards where the Gautier residence was located. 

He was surprised that there were no nightly patrols from either private mercenaries or from the bobbies themselves, though that did not stop him from keeping out of the street lamps's glow as best he could. He tensed as he approached the Gautier estate, suddenly unaware of what he was to do. He lurked in nearby shadows for what felt like a half hour — as he had indeed surrendered his only present pocket watch — when Sylvain walked down the street looking as cocksure as ever. 

Mr. Hugo had the irrational urge to slap him in the face, most assuredly due to the grin that was plastered on his face, as if he came from a midnight rendezvous and not a dangerous theft against one of his closest friends. Or rather, an attempted theft. 

But God Almighty, Mr. Hugo was completely and utterly adrift in action and deed, and the urge to run, though not unkind, did run through his every vein; t'was a survival instinct borne of his condition most peculiar but alas, now was not the time!— As Sylvain spotted him and immediately began approaching him. 

"My good friend, shall we?" Sylvain extended an arm, which Mr. Hugo declined with a glare. But he did follow Sylvain into his estate, the two of them ending up in a small parlor that contained two chairs, a table, a cabinet, and a fireplace. 

Sylvain immediately went to the cabinet, which then revealed itself to contain alcohol that Sylvain poured generously into two glasses. Mr. Hugo took his place in an armchair and was most thankful for the drink, though he said naught a word. 

The two settled across from one another and into silence. 

Naturally, Sylvain broke it. "We should discuss our arrangement." 

Mr. Hugo raised an eyebrow at that, and Sylvain quickly corrected himself by adding, "By which I mean, I am used to scandal and suspicion but I daren't drag you into my mess unwillingly nor do I presume to know what you wish from our… friendship." 

Mr. Hugo let out an ungentlemanly snort. "If we are calling it a friendship, then perhaps we are discussing different things." 

Sylvain laughed. "True; I suppose — and I shall beg of you not to tease — but rather it would be more accurate — though only if you do so agree — and not to imply that you are a woman but — oh, blast, what I mean to say and am failing so utterly—" 

"You have permission to court me, but only if I do have that permission for you." 

"Oh. Well, of course." Sylvain smiled. "I shall endeavor to court you so wonderfully that you shan't ever think of yourself as lacking." 

"I never do, but it is good that you think the same." Mr. Hugo hesitated. "I do have but one request." 

"Anything." 

"Ask no more of my past. It is a dreary tale and one not suitable for casual conversation. If I wish to share it, I shall do so unprompted and unasked."

Sylvain inclined his head. "You have my word as a gentleman." Then he, without whit or reason, did blush the most deep crimson. "Would you — perhaps — if you did wish to stay the night?" 

It took Mr. Hugo a moment to understand what Sylvain meant, but once he did his visage adopted a similar hue as to Sylvain. 

"I fear that Mr. Ubert would be most concerned if I did not return tonight, but I shall call upon you as soon as I am able." Mr. Hugo made no move to stand. 

"I could wake my messenger and have him deliver a missive to Mr. Ubert, one stating plainly that you are safe," offered Sylvain. 

"I do appreciate your offer, but as Mr. Ubert does believe you are but a pompous ass, that would be less than satisfactory for his eyes." Mr. Hugo finally stood and, with a smile, stepped close to Sylvain. He did not let himself think as he pressed his lips against Sylvain's forehead. "Bonne nuit, mon bien-aimé marquis." 

"Good night, my — Mr. Hugo." 

"Please, call me Felix." 

A smile passed between two lovers. 

"Good night, my Felix." 

****

_THEFT AT THE BLAIDDYD ESTATE PREVENTED THANKS TO AFRICAN MANSERVANT _

_The estate of the noble Prince Dimitri Blaiddyd, first son to Her Majesty, has reported an attempted theft of the crown jewel sapphire, presented to Lord Baliddyd upon his reaching eight and ten years by her Majesty the Queen. The thief hatched a plan most ingenious, however it was the quick witted manservant Dedue Molinaro who was able to prevent the theft from being completed. _

_According to the official statement penned by Lord Baliddyd himself, at the hour of one in the morning a commotion was heard on the upper levels of the Blaiddyd estate. The guards rushed to investigate, however Mr. Molinaro suspected foul play and instead hastened to the first floor, wherein the crown jewel is located on display. Mr. Molinaro did interrupt the thief, who was dressed in dark clothes and with a thick cloth 'round his face, obscuring his features with most intensity; and upon confronting the thief, did cause the thief to run into the night. While Mr. Molinaro pursued the criminal, it is most unfortunate that the thief was able to escape and thus remains at large. _

_However, the Blaiddyd estate has confirmed that nothing was stolen, though several windows were broken during the attempted robbery. While Mr. Molinaro was unable to be reached for comment, Lord Blaiddyd did state in his correspondence with the paper that he is seeking a large reward for his manservant, adding that the loss of such a precious gift would have harmed him most greatly._

_Mr. Molinaro has been in the service of the Blaiddyd family since Lord Blaiddyd was a young child and, in the past, comments have been made remarking upon their closeness; clearly Lord Blaiddyd has chosen his companion well. _

_Upon questioning, the Blaiddyd estate confirmed that there were rose petals left at the scene of the crime. The Scotland Yard declined to comment._

**** 

Mr. Felix Hugo was going mad. He had decided this a fortnight ago, when he returned home from the Blaiddyd estate without the crown jewel and with one courtship. Mr. Ubert, the most kind hearted of gentlemen, did not ask why Mr. Hugo was so shaken but simply made him some calming tea and bade him to bed. It was more than Mr. Hugo had in him to appreciate, though he did not offer an explanation as of yet, still struggling to come to terms with events himself. 

Regardless, he found himself meeting with Sylvain daily at the Gautier estate, the butler and other help instructed to treat him as they would Lord Gautier himself and every room opened wide for him to explore — as well as the gardens, though they were not as substantial as the Blaiddyd gardens, which Mr. Hugo did indicate on a walk with Sylvain on one such afternoon. 

"Well," Sylvain replied with a chuckle, "I cannot let thieves lurk in my rose bushes." 

Later they exchanged a brief kiss in the garden and Sylvain, as ever the romantic, plucked a rosebud and placed it in Felix's hair. He kept the flower until it was time to leave, but even then did affix it to his lapel using a pin borrowed from a maid. Sylvain smiled when he saw, but wisely kept silent on the matter, as Felix was more likely to strike him for being foolish rather than kiss him for being smitten. 

It was an unusual courtship by no small measure, and one all the more peculiar because naught but their closest allies could know of their true closeness — Mr. Hugo confided in Mr. Ubert after a few days proved that Lord Gautier was not treating this as mere fancy, whilst Lord Gautier kept Lord Blaiddyd abreast of the situation. Naturally, Mr. Hugo also advised Madame Arnault of this change in relation, to which she expressed utter joy and make him swear to keep her abreast of the situation, as if this were a tale in her operas. 

But despite all this and the fact that Sylvain was the perfect gentleman — he offered for Felix to stay the night every night, but never grew cross or insulted when Felix declined, nor did he push towards furthering their relation to a level that Felix found uncomfortable, and he dared not make statements such as to compare Felix to the weather or nature or any of the usual empty compliments, save for the beginning of a recitement of Shakespeare's eighteenth sonnet— 

"If you are bold enough to finish that phrase, I shall leave your home and never return," threatened Felix. 

"Well, if I did know you felt so strongly about poetry, perhaps I would have tried it sooner," replied Sylvain, but he did cease his attempts at using such things to woo Felix, which went appreciated by the entire staff as the practice recitals were beginning to grow quite tiresome. 

No, truly regardless of the fact that Sylvain was acting as the perfect man and did not comment on any of Felix's eccentricities such as as to his past nor attempt to replace his threadbare but ever-present collection of vests nor question further as to his high class English accent — regardless of these facts, there was but one reason why Felix found himself so certain that their courtship was doomed. 

"You should tell him," encouraged Mr. Ubert, as if this was a matter of Mr. Hugo preferring the color blue to red or thinking that a carriage and four more comfortable than a single horse. 

"I cannot, and to suggest I can is the height of foolishness. I should not have told you," replied Mr. Hugo, who threatened to wear a hole in the floor, his boots, and Mr. Ubert's patience with his pacing 'cross the floor of their meager parlor. "Telling you was a necessary risk, but I still could have managed without." 

"You would have been discovered eventually, if not by me then by someone more malicious — and by telling me, you have saved yourself quite some trouble, as it is easier to tell a lie when two claim it is the truth." Mr. Ubert frowned. "I do not mean to imply that you are a liar, but to suggest that it is a concealment of some factors that may cause others to treat you differently. A foolish concept but, alas, I do understand and hope you know that I will always support your decisions in this matter."

"But you still feel that I should tell Lord Gautier the truth." 

"Well, yes." Mr. Ubert scratched his chin. "Does he know that you are English yet? Certainly he has discovered that?" 

"I am uncertain. I would hope to assign a certain level of intelligence to the man — though historically he has shown that he can quite easily miss details and it is a feat in of itself that he has not managed to recognize me as of yet — so I do hesitate to assume anything from him at this stage of our — our relationship." 

"Well, I for one give him credit where it is earned, though from what you have said, it is most unlikely that he will naturally conclude the reality of the situation. After all, how uncommon it must be for your childhood darling to disappear for over two decades and return a handsome gentleman thief? And if the act of hiding your history together does make you feel guilty or sorrowful or whatnot, then the natural solution is but to tell him yourself." 

"But I cannot." 

"Do you lack the tongue or the will to utter the words? Have your lips fallen off or your throat sealed with wax? My dear friend, you are a sullen and dour bastard on the occasion but never have you ceased the ability to talk!" 

Mr. Hugo found himself quite shocked at Mr. Ubert's directness and indeed Mr. Ubert seemed surprised that he could be so bold, but the words were uttered and Mr. Ubert made the decision to stand by them in the utmost. 

"You complain that you cannot trust Lord Gautier, but then you spend all day sharing tea and walking in his gardens—" 

"You act like we are so scandalous. Other than our very courtship being illegal, we have not engaged in any action that could make even a maiden blush—" 

"—And sitting in his library together. In fact, I find it most odd that you even return each night, since you haven't been going to the shop 'cept when Lord Gautier is engaged in business or when I tell you a specific trinket has arrived that may catch your fancy."

"We are partaking in nothing but a summer trifle, which is all the reason I should need to keep my history a secret from Sylvain." 

"But you are considering telling him regardless." 

"I — I should not," finished Mr. Hugo in a soft tone. 

"But you are." 

"But I am." 

Mr. Ubert stood and placed his hands on Mr. Hugo's shoulders. "If the reality of the situation makes your Lord Gautier treat you any different than he does now — save, naturally, if he falls harder for you — then I shall personally visit his residence myself and help him understand the errors of his ways." 

"Are you threatening to kill a marquess for me?"

"His father is still alive, so I imagine he is just a lord, yes?" 

Mr. Hugo smiled even as he shook his head. "You are most preposterous, my friend, but nevertheless I find myself thankful for your support. I still shan't tell him, but I'm glad that you feel that the matter of my entire being is not enough for him to be angry and accuse me of being a liar." 

"You are… not telling the full reality, but if anything you are being more truthful now than you were in the past." Mr. Ubert hesitated before embracing Mr. Hugo. "I am glad we are friends and that you did tell me, for I would loathe for you to feel that such a thing would cause me to be disgusted by your very being." 

Mr. Hugo rolled his eyes but did return the embrace, which was more than anything words could convey. Though things were difficult for him, largely due to his own fears and hesitations, he admitted to himself that they were, by the by, positive and, short of a truly miraculously poor fortune, did seem that they would continue as such. 

The season did not end for another two months; by that point Mr. Hugo felt that yes, he would be prepared to make his decision in regards to his future with Sylvain. 

****

_REIGN OF TERROR OVER? — LONDON WAITS AS THIEF QUIETS_

_It has been over sixteen days since the rose petal thief doth strike last, and London residents now feel safe enough to suspect that the thief may have retired with his prizes. Though the Scotland Yard swears that they have continued attempts to locate the stolen objects — most importantly the Ruby Tiara of the Hresvelg family — there has been no progress as of late._

_Many of the families continue to have rewards posted for the retrieval of their possessions, but it seems that the terror that did strike London's most affluent has quieted. When questioned, a local florist did comment that there has been much less demand for red roses. _

_With but two months left, it is most with a positive manner that many do look to the rest of the season. Now that precious belongings seem safer, many of London's ladies find themselves free to wear more of their jewels — turn to page 4 to see what they are wearing! _

****

It was a dark night and the sweltering heat of summer had all but evaporated, save for the last tendrils in the rock pathways that curled throughout the gardens at the Gautier summer estate. Instead, it was refreshingly cool, though thankfully the night was free of any rain or otherwise unpleasant weather. 

In short, it was the ideal weather for a stroll through the gardens, which Felix and Sylvain took with their hands entwined. Their way was lit only by faith moonlight, as it was in the smallest sliver so that even the cloudless night was still dim, but they had eyes only for each other and cared not for what was around them. 

"What I never understood," said Sylvain, "is how you can see such small pieces! I did break open a watch of my father's once, when I was a boy — and even then, it was under encouragement of my older brother, who I now realize did just wish for me to be beat for destroying something precious — but I can remember my disappointment as it was controlled by tiny pieces and not pixies as I had been told." 

Felix had the corners of his mouth upturned in what another may have called a smile but he did describe as amusement. Even the contents of Sylvain's story were not enough to startle him, though perhaps he did have the unfair advantage of knowing all of them prior to that night. 

"We employ a number of special magnification lenses to better view them, though even then I will say that my fellows have the best eyes in the business. A steady hand and good eye cannot be taught — it matters not how well you remember the steps if you cannot execute them." 

"You are quite the talent, then." 

"You flatter me." 

"I know naught else for you, my Felix." 

"And you, mon ange, are no poet." 

Sylvain clutched his heart with his free hand. "Oh, how Cupid's arrows sting! You do know," he added with gleaming grin, "Madame Arnault did send me a letter the other day warning me of hurting you, but I do think it should be the opposite. My delicate constitution cannot withstand your sharp tongue." He spoke in dramatics that did cause Felix's face to color most vibrantly. "Perhaps you shall need to heal me."

"And how does the gentleman suggest I do so?" Felix found himself asking, his mood jovial enough to joke along. 

They rounded a corner and Sylvain artfully plucked a flower from a bush. He held it out to Felix — it was a red rose. 

"Accept this favor from your dearest?" 

"You are no dear, but I shall accept — though this seems a rotten way of healing, you gifting something to me." Felix brushed his fingers against Sylvain's as he took the gift and, though their fingers were entwined on the opposite hands, he did find it most intimate. Emboldened, Felix pressed his lips to Sylvain's cheek. "There, a way of strengthening a man that has stood the test of time and tale."

Sylvain seemed most surprised and did not answer for some time, walking dumbly along and looking at Felix with stars reflected in his eyes. When he recovered his manners, he pulled Felix to a small bench beneath a large tree. 

The two sat quietly, facing towards the gardens. Both were dressed in proper attire and, if it were but midday with charming ladies wandering in sight, they could be mere friendly gentlemen enjoying the outside air. As it were, the cover of night did make everything more sinister, in a fashion, though what they did was more pure than the flightless fancies of ladies giggling and facing the Gautier fortune. 

Lacking a proper place to put it, Felix affixed the flower in his hair. He felt himself color further, until he almost matched the rose in hue and shade. He reached up to take it out, but Sylvain stopped him with gentle fingers. 

"You look the most handsome of men." 

"You are then both blind and incapable of poetry, though I suppose they are connected," replied Felix, though his words held no venom.

Silence returned once more. Sylvain stretched his legs so that his did press against Felix's and, for those who had shared kisses, it did feel like something even more precious. Fire churned in Felix's stomach, palms growing sweaty as he struggled to think of what to say or do; he felt that he was quite a witty and eloquent man, but Sylvain did steal his emotion and seal his words. 

"Have you ever been in love before?" Sylvain's inquiry was sudden and Felix found himself unclear as to how to answer. "I was in love, once, but that was the mindless love of an idle boy who adore another. Since then, I have not felt such things until you." 

"Oh, but you are bold," murmured Felix. 

"Only in honest ways and only for you, my Felix." 

Felix licked his lips. The two of them were exchanging a long glance; Felix did not even blink. "Say that again."

Sylvain turned so he faced Felix. "My Felix."

"Again. 

"My Felix." 

"Again." He was breathless, overwhelmed — this was what he wanted, this was what he had dreamed of as a child, crying into his pillow and convinced he was cursed and God was cruel and life evil— 

"My Felix, my Felix, my Felix—" Sylvain stopped, as Felix's lips on his prevented him from speaking further. 

Felix fit against Sylvain as a key fit into a lock or a cog into a wheel. All propriety was forgotten as hands pulled at clothes and more than breath was exchanged. A lightness filled Felix's head as Sylvain's tongue brushed against his lips and Sylvain moaned when Felix tugged his hair. They were no gentlemen but lovers, desperate to make the most of their time before daybreak did dawn on them and force them apart. 

But they were still human and air did require that they break, Felix blinking past stars and Sylvain breathing heavily. The two shared at one another. Felix's lips were red as the rose in his hair and Sylvain was sweating. Unbeknownst to either, Felix had ended in Sylvain's lap but now was most hesitant to leave. Felix's knees were to either side of Sylvain's in a most forward manner and, realizing how he must appear, Felix made to leave and recover what scraps of honor he had. 

"Wait—" Sylvain took Felix's hand in his. "I — if it is too forward, please do say, but we could but stay in one of my spare rooms? We do not need to do more than you wish. Just — stay with me?" 

And oh, how Felix's heart wept. 

He stood, straightening his vest. "I apologize, mon amour, mon ange, mon cœur. But I cannot spend the night with you." 

"What, are you secretly a beast who must shed his human skin each dawn?" Sylvain teased but there was fear in his eyes. Felix assuaged it as best he could by kissing him once more, though he did not let himself fall into Sylvain's arms the way he wished. 

It was unfair to do this, to pretend they could have more than stolen nights and stolen kisses. 

"Good night, Lord Gautier." 

The smell of roses followed Felix home; though Felix's heart ached upon separation, he was not foolish enough to throw away his happy lie on a wishful night. 

****

_Dearest Madame Arnault,_

_I do wish to begin this letter by congratulating you for the successful performance the other night. I did hear that Her Majesty did attend and gave her personal regards — tell me, is she as charming as all the reports do say? I have only had the occasion to meet her once or twice, and both were quite formal and only due to my personal connection with Prince Blaiddyd. I hope that her approval does bring you much success and further your career, not in the least due to the fact that I wish that we could spend more time together outside of the regular season. _

_Regardless, I do also have a question for you, one that you may tease me for but I must beg of you not to inquire as to why — you are intelligent enough and shall know. I do beg that you ask not for details, as I cannot give them; they are not mine to tell. _

_My question is simple enough. I have a companion, as we have discussed, who does engage in many terms of French origin. As we have previously established, I was but a foolish child who did his utmost to not learn a lick of anything but especially French. Of course, this does mean that my companion refusing to translate anything does leave me in quite a predicament. _

_I have attempted to at least provide the correct spelling of such terms, but do forgive my inevitable butchering of your wonderful language. _

_The first phrase is "mon beenne amiee" which I believe is a term of endearment. I do recall the word beenne as a positive phrase — I believe it means "good" though I cannot quite recall — but I haven't the faintest what the rest of the phrase does stand for. _

_My companion also has taken to stating that they "too ma mankeys." It seems to be a phrase denoting annoyance, but in an affectionate manner? I am uncertain, but that is what I ask your assistance with. _

_There are other phrases such as "mon share amiee" and "mon anjuh" but I am quite confident they are to be interpreted as positive endearments, similar to "mon beenne amiee" — however, if I am incorrect, please do let me know. _

_I hope that you are in good health and that you are able to reply post haste._

_Your friend, _

_The ever appreciative Lord Gautier _

****

_Dearest Lord Gautier,_

_I hope you can imagine my surprise upon opening your letter and seeing that it was not, as I had originally thought, an invitation for dinner or tea but rather a request for my assistance! I am in good health and spirit, though my mood was much raised when I read your letter. _

_Do understand that I say this as your friend, but please never attempt to write French again._

_Are you free tomorrow in the afternoon? Or perhaps in the evening? I feel that I could attempt to assist you through written correspondence, but your written French leaves much to be desired and I must admit that I do not quite know what you are attempting to say. _

_And, naturally, I do need to inquire as to how your courtship does progress, and there is nothing better than such good conversations over a good cup of tea. You claim I shall be wasting my breath, but I daresay that I am far more clever and witty than you do give me the credit for — and as an aside, I already hear plenty from your companion, as we speak frequently. _

_Though, if you do refuse to tell me more than that, please at least answer this — is this someone you do find yourself courting most seriously? _

_With love,_

_Dorothea Arnault _

****

Lord Gautier was in the middle of tea with Lord Blaiddyd, his manservant Mr. Molinaro, Countess Galatea, and Madame Arnault when his butler entered with a quick step and frightful expression. This was an interruption of a most delightful conversation comparing English theatre to French; both Madame Arnault and Lord Gautier did find French plays to be the most intriguing while Countess Galatea was a supporter of the English tales. Lord Blaiddyd held no opinion, though Mr. Molinaro offered a few comments on occasion. 

"My lords and ladies, my greatest apologies — but a visitor does request your presence, Lord Gautier." The butler bowed deeply, his face forcibly returned into a polite, neutral expression. "Immediately, if you are able." 

Lord Gautier gave his companions an apologetic smile before questioning his butler, asking who was calling upon him without previous invitation — and so critically! 

A slight fear did spread through Lord Gautier, wondering if something had occurred to Mr. Hugo which did require immediate attention. The only reason the two of them were not together on that day was due to the fact that Mr. Hugo did have quite a backlog of business at the shop, such that he risked losing employment if he were not the most capable in London. 

The butler hardly seemed to believe the situation himself. "It — it is your—" 

The parlor door was thrown open with great clamor, a man in thick furs and an elaborate cloak did enter, followed by a second butler and a maid, both of whom were apologizing at haste and begging many pardons. 

"Where is my son?" Cried the Marquess Wolfgang Gautier, his eyes narrow as he scanned the room for the occupants. 

Lord Gautier leapt to his feet, as did Countess Galatea and Madame Arnault. While the two ladies begun curtsies, Lord Gautier did cry, "Why are you here? Is Mother still well?" 

"My apologies for interrupting your tea with such wonderful ladies — and you as well, Lord Blaiddyd — but I did find it most critical to speak with you in person, as a letter cannot convey the information I do have." Marquess Gautier cast a critical eye on Lord Blaiddyd and on Mr. Molinaro, who by virtue of Lord Blaiddyd's protections felt no fear in returning such a gaze with equal animosity. Marquess Gautier did look away, turning his criticism onto his son. "Sylvain, would it be possible to speak with you in private? You may return to your tea — if you even wish to do so — after we speak." 

Lord Gautier spread his arms. "I am certain that whatever you do find most necessary to share such that you traveled, I imagine, for many days and nights, to tell me in person can also be shared amongst my closest friends." 

"I have secured your engagement with Lady Hresvelg; the two of you are to be married within the year." 

The room was quiet enough that the ticking of the Lord Gautier's pocket watch, nestled between his outer coat and his vest, was audible. 

Lord Blaiddyd stood. "Madame Arnault, may Countless Galatea and I accompany you on a tour of the gardens? Mr. Molinaro is well-read in matters botanical; undoubtedly he will be able to answer any questions you have on the grounds as well as any gardener." 

Madame Arnault readily agreed. The trio, for Countess Galatea was no fool, did readily take their leave — though Madame Arnault did give Lord Gautier a pained look upon her exit. With a command from their lord, the servants did exeunt as well, the parlor doors closing behind the head butler with a soft _click_.

"Are you mad?" Lord Gautier inquired immediately, crossing the room to approach his father. 

"Hardly. I am saving our family's reputation and, by extent, yours as well. I presume you have gotten my letters?" 

"Yes."

"Then why do you feign surprise? Surely you must have known that I would seek a beneficial marriage for you—" 

"You have gotten me engaged with someone I have not had two conversations with! Does she even know she is engaged, or did you discuss this with her family and no one else?" Lord Gautier found himself raising his voice, but he could not bring himself to feel shame over the act. His face was warm with emotion and he could only just stop himself from confronting his father closer, instead keeping a respectful distance between them. "I said I would seek a marriage, but you are not even giving me the choice in partner." 

"For what are you so upset? This is the most fortunate marriage in England! The Hresvelg family is only one step apart from that of the Queen herself and, while Lady Hresvelg dost possess quite the sum of wealth — even with the regrettable loss of the Tiara, which I am certain would challenge even your friend Lord Blaiddyd's crown jewel in wealth both monetary and social — even she was impressed with the offer I did make. For yes, the Lady Hresvelg is eager for such a partnership herself, as she is aware that the time for her marriage does come swiftly and, after her failed engagement with Lord Blaiddyd, her options for a suitable match are limited." 

This was all said in a quick manner, as if Marquess Gautier did not wish his son the ability to think on matters. Indeed, Lord Gautier felt as if his head was spinning and his stomach did act as if he had eaten an unprepared serving of poultry. 

"I think I am going to be ill," confessed the young lord. 

"Nonsense; there are announcements to be penned, invitations to be written — all manner of plans must be drawn, and of course I shall make arrangements for you to speak with your future wife, but I cannot imagine you will have much to discuss before the wedding. She has quite good literary ability, I hear, and can play the piano with no small talent — all which shall entertain you when you do meet, I am sure." Marquess Gautier looked rather pleased with himself, which did suggest he either ignored or did not perceive his son's own discomfort. "But ah, there is much to do! I shall inform your staff that there is to be a ball in a month — no, in a fortnight! For you shall have to announce your engagement in a manner befitting your mutual status, of course." 

"Is there naught I can do to convince you that this is an ill advised plan?" Lord Gautier inquired. His father gaped at him like a fish. 

"But my son, 'tis a miracle I could even arrange such a partnership! Oh, you must be worried for your own freedoms, which I do understand, but please let me reassure you that you shall not be left wanting for Lady Hresvelg is most beautiful." Marquess Gautier laughed. "And now we shall discuss no more of it, unless you have it in you to thank your father for all he has done. Where are your servants? I am parched." 

Without pause, Marquess Gautier left the room with a sweep of his cape, calling for someone to bring him a drink. Lord Gautier sighed. He also needed a drink, desperately. 

****

_My dearest Felix, _

_I must see you tonight. I cannot say why, only that there have been events that require you immediate attention. Do not bother replying to this, just arrive as soon as you are able. _

_Yours,_

_Sylvain _

****

"Good evening, Mr. Hugo. Lord Gautier is awaiting your presence in his upper drawing room. I shall escort you there," greeted the butler as he held the door for Mr. Hugo. 

"I appreciate your offer, but I do know where it is located and would not wish to trouble you so." Felix offered a smile to the butler and, upon earning agreement, made his way to the second floor where Sylvain was waiting. 

In his drawing room, a fire burned low and a half-finished drink sat on a side table as Sylvain himself crossed from one side of the room to the other, worrying the corner of his lips with his teeth. His head turned when he heard the door open and, as soon as it was closed, he approached Felix and did take his hands in his own. 

"Run away with me." Sylvain seemed surprised at his own boldness. "My apologies, that was — well, I did have a prepared speech, but it is a long story—"

"What are you going on about? Run away? For what reason do you feel that we must do so?" Felix questioned, though he did not withdraw his hands from Sylvain's. 

"Worry not why nor how, for I do have the ability to make arrangements such that we will we be halfway to France or Italy or anywhere on the continent by the time Sunday prayer is finished. I only require your consent and then we shall never have to set foot on these isles again." 

"But why do you feel the need to do this? Is something the matter?" Felix's face drained of color. "Have we been discovered?" 

"No, no, to the best of my knowledge we are still safe." Sylvain pressed his lips to Felix's forehead. "I would never endanger you, my dear." 

A warmth blossomed in Felix's chest, one that he did force aside as he focused on the look in the eyes of Sylvain. He had a most desperate expression and dark circles betraying many a late night spent, though it had only been two days since they last were together. 

"What did pass? Please, Sylvain, tell me so I may know what makes you fear so deep that we must run for the continent." 

"My father has arranged a marriage between myself and the Lady Hresvelg." 

Felix gasped. A terrible resignation fell upon him. "Then — then that is how it ends." 

"What?" Sylvain's eyes went wide. "Why do you say such a sad thing?" 

"You must be married soon. And even regardless of that fact, the truth of the matter is that the season ends soon and…" Felix ceased speaking. His throat did protest against him and there was a tightening in his chest. His eyes felt sore and it was with a start that he did realize that he was crying, tears pricking the corner of his eyes. "I understand your initial thoughts, but you must know that it is utterly impossible." 

"And what makes it so impossible? I have wealth that would make any envious and even when condensed, I still have access to more funds than needed to travel anywhere and establish a life together. No one need know who we are — we can change our names, our entire identities—" 

"You are speaking of foolish things, utter nonsense. What shall we do in this new world together? Am I to pose as your manservant? Shall you learn a trade?" Felix did withdraw his hands from Sylvain's with the greatest hesitance, but he made no move to leave entirely. "It is a romantic notion you do possess, for which I will commend you greatly, but I am not hurt that the reality of our situation does mean that our courtship does come to an end. T'was a farce in its inception; a kind one, but never one that could end kindly. The best we can do is to end it quickly." 

"No, I — I cannot allow it!" Indeed, Sylvain did look quite disturbed by the idea. "Please forgive my bluntness, but I do love you more dearly than any. I have not felt alive ever since I was but a boy, but your presence in my life has revitalized me. I hear your voice in my sleep, see your smile when my eyes are closed, and even smell your scent when I am alone — no marriage nor other fate could cure me of this lovesickness."

Then, whether fueled by desperation, love, passion, or some combination of all three, Sylvain pulled Felix into a kiss. Their lips met and Felix, despite his sense urging him to consider the consequences, did fall further into the embrace. Sylvain's hands rested one on Felix's cheek and the other on his hip; Felix, in turn, did cling onto the lapels of Sylvain's coat in a most undignified manner. While the kiss lasted for eternity, it ceased too soon as the two did break apart for air. Felix found himself swaying ever so slightly, grounded in the present only by the way he did hold onto Sylvain. 

"That is not a goodbye kiss," noted Sylvain. "It is a promise. I want a future with you, Felix, more than a future with any other." 

"I… I do not want to make you choose between your life and myself. That is not something I could ask of you," replied Felix, though he spoke slower than before. 

"It is not something you are asking of me, rather something I offer freely. You have said in the past that you do respect and trust me, but do prove this now and accept my offer."

"Well, how can I know that this is not merely a wish to escape a dull marriage? By which I do mean that you may run away without me, though undoubtedly it would be more interesting with my companionship; however, I shall not be a travelling companion solely for your entertainment nor a jester or actor." 

"I had resigned myself to a life of unhappiness; a loveless marriage, heirs that I care not for, and whatever else my family did request of me. My brother — and do not be surprised if you have never heard of my older brother, for he was caught kissing a woman from Africa and was disowned immediately by my father and expunged from all family records; though to the public, he did run away for reasons unknown — left me to be the proper son. 

"Never did I consider escape, as it was not my happiness to be of concern. Now, however, I do find myself thinking of you, as I did say — but even further than that, I do think of your happiness. If you say to me, with utmost certainty, that you would be happier without me then I shall allow you to walk out the door and never speak to me again." 

Sylvain faced Felix directly, their eyes meeting once again. And though every part of propriety and intellect did insist that Felix exit the room, he did not pick up his foot nor even turn away. Felix linked the fingers of their right hands together; Sylvain used his left to brush Felix's tears from his face. 

"I love you," murmured Sylvain. 

"And I, you," replied Felix. "A week, I do ask of you, in order to settle my meager estate and funds. I shan't be able to provide as much as you, but I will not let you be the sole contributor to this effort." 

"A week it shall be, then; more than enough for me to arrange transport. Do you have a request or preference? I would enjoy visiting your home, though as you know I cannot speak a whit of French; perhaps you could teach me?" 

Felix smiled. "I shall have plenty of time to teach you as much French as you wish. As for where we first venture, I care not as long as we are together." 

"I do feel the same." Sylvain kissed Felix on the forehead before tugging him towards the armchair that faced the dying fire. "Now, come and sit with me until the night passes. I do wish to distract myself from these horrid thoughts and your presence contributes much to my ability to do so." 

Felix did not complain and neither spoke of their plan for the rest of the night. 

**** 

_My dear friend Ashe,_

_I write this to you to serve three purposes. The first is as an apology. The second is an explanation. The third is a request. I have much to say, so I shall not tarry._

_You have been nothing but the most supportive and wonderful of companions for all of these years. When we did first meet, I thought that you were naught but an idealistic man who could help me and whom I could use until I needed you to more. What I did discover instead is that you are an idealistic man with a good heart and a better head and the best of friends to someone who did not wish to be anything greater than acquaintances. I could not have hoped for a better friend as your support did help bolster me during my most difficult periods. _

_I said several months ago that I should not have told you my most private of secrets, which was selfish and cruel. Never have you ever made me regret such a decision, for you have always treated me as I wished to be treated: a gentleman of no interesting past nor great wealth, but rather a plain man. _

_So I must begin this letter with an apology, as I was not brave enough to tell you these things in person. As you have no doubt determined by now, I have left for good. My personal items are in my bag, my meager wealth withdrawn from the bank; anything left in the flat is yours, and I have left you an additional two months of rent as I do presume that this is a surprise and not something you have been able to prepare for. _

_It is certain that you do deserve to be told in person that I am leaving, but I knew you would cry and I am coward enough to not wish to confront your tears. Please, I do beg that this does not color your thoughts of me too heavily; I also do promise that I shall attempt to write to you and provide a forwarding address as soon as I do have one to provide. Naturally, if this is offensive to you, merely do not reply to my letters and I shall understand you wish to cease our correspondence. But I do digress. _

_My explanation is both short and long; the decision to leave was mine own, though the idea belongs to Lord Gautier. He did confide to me that his father has secured his engagement with Lady Hresvelg and, despite my own protests, he did make it most clear that he would prefer to abscond with myself rather than remain. I did agree and, as such, will be boarding a ship tonight and make my way to the continent with him._

_The extended tale is that I have felt the need to leave for some time, though this is independent of you and is rather a difficulty of my own. As you know, I was once the child of a great noble lord and returning to London did bring me closer to that life than I ever did intend. It is not safe for me, as you know that discovery by the wrong person could result in my imprisonment or death — which we both know is no exaggeration. For both my safety and yours, I will remain vague in this letter, but naturally it is difficult to remain a bachelor for too long, and to not even pretend to entertain a courtship — no, I have been here longer than is safe, so even if it were not for Lord Gautier I would need to organize my escape sooner rather than later. _

_Now, I am many things but I do think I am no fool and I do plan on making Lord Gautier aware of everything before a single foot is placed on the gangplank. If he does answer poorly, I am armed and can defend myself, then escape to the countryside. I suppose that you should keep an eye on your mail and on the papers; noble lords do not take slights well, and certainly there will be a call for my head if Lord Gautier does request it. _

_I do say these things so that it is clear to you that I leave and do not intend to return. _

_Last, I do have a simple request for you to complete, if I have not used all of your good-will yet. As I did state above, I have left enough for two months of rent, but I included some extra as well, for I have been resisting my duties as a son and brother — please do purchase a few flowers and place them on the graves of Rodrigue and Glenn Fraldarius, both buried in the Fraldarius crypt in the Westminster Abbey. Perhaps I am a coward in more than one way. My original intention was to honor the two by returning to London, but alas a year is not long enough to do all that one should do, nor is it enough to heal from a childhood lost. _

_I do thank you again for all you have done these many years and I do apologize once more for how things must end. Know that my memories of you shall always be positive and know that I could never resent you nor prohibit you from thinking ill of me; God does know that this is more challenge than you do deserve. _

_Your good friend,_

_Felix Hugo Fraldarius, the last of his line _

****

Lord Sylvain Gautier had too much energy; it was just past midnight and he had woken at six past dawn the other day, all of the last confirmations and final preparations requiring his attention. He was forever in debt to his servants, all of whom were released with two months of pay and excellent references; the London residence was in Sylvain's name rather than his father's so it was his decision and though many would no doubt be retired, Sylvain did not wish to risk their livelihoods due to his decisions. Though Sylvain's butler did offer to join Sylvain on his journey, Sylvain ordered him away. This was a venture that did allow Sylvain the opportunity to stand on equal ground to his beloved — indeed, Felix was better equipped for such events they were likely to encounter! 

But those thoughts were just distractions from his true concern, which was that Felix would fail to appear, whether due to fear, his own will, or unlikely interference. Sylvain was confident that his father suspected nothing, as Sylvain did most eagerly spend the last week planning his own engagement ball. Lady Hresvelg was polite, intelligent, and handsome; she would marry well, but it would not be to Sylvain. 

Beyond those basic concerns, Sylvain did withdraw as much of his funds as he could and did pen letters to Countess Galatea and Madame Arnault, though he was uncertain whether Felix would inform Madame Arnault himself. Lord Blaiddyd already was apprised of the situation, as it was his favor that Sylvain did call upon to orchestrate such an escape. Beyond the three, Sylvain could not care a fig as to the opinion or concern.

His fear of abandonment did ebb away as Felix, handsome as ever in his nicest apparel and a bag slung on his back, did approach the docks. Sylvain ran to him, embracing him in tight grasp though resisting all urge to press his lips to Felix's own. 

"I am most heartened to see you here," Sylvain confessed. Felix did embrace him in kind, though he said nothing. Catching a glance at his expression, Sylvain found himself frowning. "Is all well? You seem pale and most hesitant. If you are having thoughts of hesitation, then I would not be insulted to postpone—" 

"May we speak? In — In private." Felix eyed the sailors who were scurrying across their ship, preparing to set sail for the continent. They were some distance apart, but Sylvain did not question the request, though he wished to do so; the two of them quickly located at empty alley, not even a beggar hiding in the dark corners. 

"Please do tell me what has you so worried, my Felix. If you fear this decision—"

"I say this with respect, but I must ask you to promise me two things before I continue."

"Anything." 

Felix took a heavy breath. "I must ask that you swear on the Lord, on your life, on your honor and life that what I tell you shall not be passed to any other."

Sylvain wondered what Felix could be sharing, but he did agree. He could not think of anything, short of certain murders, that could make Sylvain betray Felix's trust and speak of their private conversations with the world. 

"Second, I do beg that you allow me to finish what I shall say before you do comment. Undoubtedly you shall have many questions and I will answer as many as you do have, but let me finish my tale though it shall seem quite fanciful and impossible. I do swear to you that all I say is the truth, and that this is information you must know before we step onto that ship." 

"I shall not speak until you give me permission, but I will say that there is nothing you could say that could change my thoughts of you." 

Felix laughed without mirth. "This is far beyond what you have ever considered, I can tell you as much, but no more hesitation; let me tell you the reality of our situation and of my past. 

"I was born not in France but in England, to a family of no small wealth and larger reputation. My father and his father had served her Majesty and her father; furthermore, their fathers served for Her Majesty's father's father and so on. We are — were — a military family. It was only natural that my older brother was eager to enlist for officer as soon as he was able, as was expected for all sons of our house — I shall not bore you with the details, but he did die in the service and as my mother did pass in childbirth, it was left that the estate did contain myself, my father, and our servants."

"My condolences for your loss." 

"Please, let me finish — I would not wish for you to regret your words after my tale is complete. I — where was I? Yes, the death of my brother — I was not enlisted, though I did beg my father to allow me to learn how to fight; instead, I did get sent to finishing school in France. I stayed with my tutor at the time until the night we arrived on the continent. Once she was sleeping — and I did contribute to that, slipping her a mixture in her drink that encouraged rest — I stole the funds my father had provided her, a change of clothes, and escaped into the night. You may wonder why I did protest so much to your plan, if I had done something similar when I was much younger and less prepared, and that is due to the simple fact that I almost died — I may have, if not for Madame Arnault. 

"She and I are quite close in age and she was already on apprentice with the theater, and I do believe she took pity on my inability to care for myself and convinced the theater director to take me in and allow me to help in whatever ways I could. Though I had — and still have — no talent with the art of acting or performance, I was clever and quick and could assist with fixing all sorts of broken things; a handy lad to have around, so treasured in relation to my ability and willingness to crawl places no other could. 

"Regardless, there were — there were other factors as well that did make my time with the company enjoyable; notably, there was another similar to myself who did help me find a doctor who was willing to assist with what I needed most, as well as dress properly, speak properly, and even walk, drink, and breathe as a proper middle class man. And after I had learnt all I could, travelling with the company and settling myself as part of the organization, I did leave.

"Even now, I cannot say exactly as to why. I needed something else, I suppose, and though I do regret how I left, it was important that I did so. Over the next decade and a half, I wandered from town to town, stopping in Paris only long enough to collect more of what I did need before disappearing into the country and making my worth as a man who could perform smaller duties or such in exchange for food or a night's stay at an inn or in a warm barn. Eventually, I did meet Mr. Ubert and it was with his assistance that I learnt the skills that resulted in our meeting again — to skip over much of the unnecessary detail, I am in London for my own reasons, but it in Mr. Ubert who did create the idea that a man may steal more in a night that he could earn in a lifetime, were he to be bold enough.

"But oh, I do talk in circles and avoid the importance of what I must say — which is that we have known each other longer than these short months." Felix withdrew Sylvain's pocket watch; Sylvain hadn't the faintest idea when it had been taken, but even in the dim lamp light the engraving on the back was still visible. "Till the end of time — well, it was a promise born of a silly child's dreams, but it does seem that even my best efforts cannot stop me from fulfilling the promise I did make." 

Sylvain felt adrift. Surely he must be misunderstanding what Felix was saying, for it was impossible for Felix to be the same as the girl Sylvain did grow up aside, and swear eternal love for, as a boy. 

"You knew me when we were both children, before I did become my true self," explained Felix — because that was his name still, Sylvain could not think of a reason for that to be a lie, but he also could not understand what Felix was saying. "I did suspect my true nature when I was not even ten, but… I could not say it to any for fear of what would happen. When I was sent to finishing school, I saw my opportunity and did take it with every fiber of my being. And before you do ask, yes I did regret never speaking to you after, but what could I have said? I can hardly explain it now, over two decades past! I know it sounds ridiculous but please—" Felix paled even further, his skin similar to the moon that was the only witness to what was occurring. 

_I loved you. I cried for you. I thought you were dead._ Sylvain did not say a word. _I missed you, I missed you. I missed you._

"Sylvain, say something? Say you hate me or love me or — or anything. Just please, speak," begged Felix. 

It took every effort to open his mouth. "How… you look nothing like you did? If you had not told me, I would not have ever known nor suspected that you…" Sylvain did not know how to say it, fearful of offending the other. 

Felix snorted. "I would hope not; even you did catch me unaware when I did see you again. As for myself, the right doctors do have injections that can be done that masculinize oneself — admittedly, I understand only the barest medical knowledge, but I have been doing this for… a very long time. If it were dangerous, I would know by now." 

"And your, ah, your companions? Madame Arnault and Mr. Ubert…?" 

"They do know, yes; Madame Arnault met me when I was still appearing as the girl you knew and Mr. Ubert did help connect me to a doctor in London who could assist me." Felix looked away, color appearing on his face; Sylvain realized it was embarrassment. "I… I thought you would be furious, but I now realize that your disgust is worse — but I shall not bore you with the concerns of a fool. I apologize for deceiving you—" 

"Felix, what ever are you saying? Disgust? I am shocked, yes, but I don't find you disgusting! It is just a marvel that the most beautiful girl from my childhood is the same as the most handsome man I ever seen — and I own many mirrors," Sylvain attempted to tease. He did not even get a smile in return. "Please, my Felix — though, pardon, do you still wish for me to call you that? Or do you—" 

"My name is Felix Hugo Fraldarius. I was once someone else in your eyes, but that was temporary. If you cannot see me as Felix, as a gentleman, then I may as well leave now before you do disgust me.' 

"No—" Sylvain took Felix's hand in his own, their fingers closing over the pocket watch. "Till the end of time. I know it was a promise made between children, but I will stand by those words even now. It may be taboo, forbidden by the Church and society, but blast them all, blast my family — I have never felt this way about anyone else in my life, Felix. It has always been you. It has always been us." 

Sylvain felt tears roll down his cheeks and he quickly informed Felix they were tears of happiness; the tears were mirrored on Felix's own face and the two were reduced to holding one another and attempting to make as little noise as possible as to not attract the attention of the sailors who were just finishing their business. Perhaps they were fools, but they were fools in love. 

"My Felix, I love you even more than I did before. Know I say this with even more eagerness than my initial offer, but will you run away with me?" 

"Yes, yes I will — always, mon bien-aimé, mon amour." Felix did, quite boldly, kiss Sylvain. "My love, my Sylvain — let us run away together." 

And Sylvain took Felix's hand in his and they did just that. 

****

_FIVE YEARS LATER — THE ROSE PETAL THIEF_

_A mere five years ago, all of London was gripped in fear as noble family after noble family was robbed of their most prized possessions with the Scotland Yard incapable of locating any clues as to the identity of the thief beyond the rose petals left at the scene of most of the crimes. The summer was struck by theft after theft, each increasing in cost as the season did progress. _

_It has been the subject of much speculation, as the culprit was never caught. Some theories do propose that there were multiple thieves, but the Yard does vehemently deny such suggestions as impossible; such cooperation between mere thieves does seem rather impossible outside of plays, but the real tale is hardly believable! _

_Over the season, a total of nine thefts were attempted with only one failure. The Arundrels, Varleys, von Aegirs, Vestras, Essars, and Riegans did suffer the loss of items totalling between one hundred and eight hundred pounds. The Hresvleg estate lost the Ruby Tiara, a gift from Her Majesty to Lady Hresvelg and being appraised at anywhere from a thousand to two and a half thousand pounds. The Bariddyd estate was the only one successful in prevention of a theft; though the Rose Petal Thief did attempt to take the crown jewel sapphire, a gift from Her Majesty, he was prevented by Lord Braiddyd's manservant. _

_Later, the Gautier estate — which would also be the subject of much speculation, as the Lord Gautier did release from service his entire staff and leave the country a week before the announcement of his engagement with Lady Hresvelg — did report the theft of two family rings. _

_While the perpetrator was never caught, the Yard did locate all of the stolen items and return them post haste to the relevant family; all save the Gautier rings, which still are lost. Perhaps a loving couple does possess them now, unaware of their true worth, or the thief did drop them into the Thames and they dwell on the bottom of the river. Regardless, the last five seasons may have contained their own scandal and story, but none shall forget the rose petal thief._

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Facts:
> 
> The necklace Sylvain gave Dorothea was Bernie's pearl necklace. 
> 
> Ashe writes Felix a 20-page letter about how mad he is at Felix for running off. He still sends his best wishes and a threat to Sylvain if he ever hurts Felix. 
> 
> Sylain and Felix go to France and, after a bit of travelling, buy a small cottage with a garden and chickens. It takes Sylvain three years, but he does manage to grow a rosebush so he can give Felix roses every day. 
> 
> Dimitri and Dedue live together as confirmed bachelors for the rest of their days. 
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr!](disasterfelixfraldarius.tumblr.com)


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